#10 Tango Del Amore

Chapter one:

Nick sloshed the red liquid around in his glass. The scent hovered about him, but did little to stir his appetite. He closed his sightless eyes and drew in a deep breath. The Raven was filled with bodies both warm and cold tonight. He heard Roger's raucous laugh and Tracy's infectious giggle, Natalie's soft voice and LaCroix's droll response. Urs was sweetly conversing with Esteban's wife and cooing over their little baby and over it all blared CDs of the current hits with the bass notes pulsing just a little faster than mortal heartbeats. It all combined to make him feel just a little anxious. Nick sighed, wondering how much longer until he could make a polite exit.

"Woof," Perry snapped softly, nudging Nick's hand with his muzzle.

"Hey there, boy. You'll spill something if you aren't careful," Nick said.

Perry nudged his hand more gently this time and sent the command again, concentrating on the faint bond that had developed between them.

Nick responded to the silent suggestion, bringing the glass to his lips and forcing himself to take a sip. His stomach rebelled. Nick quickly put it down. "Damn," he cursed under his breath. Four months now and it was still a struggle to keep anything down.

Perry laid his head on Nick's thigh and gave a soft, empathetic whine. He wagged his tail tentatively. Nick patted his head. Perry stood on his hind legs, putting his front paws on Nick's lap and licked at the familiar face. It always made Nick laugh; Perry was not disappointed. He heard Nick's undead heart take a beat and felt the amusement over their bond.

"Okay, boy, okay, that's enough," Nick said, chuckling even as he tried to pull away from the wet doggy-kisses.

Perry grew more playful. He grabbed Nick's hand and tugged, pulling the young vampire onto the floor. Nick wrapped his arms around the carouche and rolled, emitting a boisterous growl. They knocked over a chair and almost tripped several people.

"Hey, Nick. You should take him outside to play," Urs chided gently.

"My thoughts exactly," Nick said, still laughing boyishly. "Come, Perry! Let's go."

Nick got to his feet and reached for Perry's harness, but before he could take more than a few steps several students pressed close.

"So are you going to teach again in the fall?"

"Thanks for taking over for Mrs. Kelischek. I really enjoyed your class!"

"What are you going to do this summer?"

Nick smiled. These girls had idolized him most of the semester. He couldn't quite picture them, but if his senses were to be trusted, then two of them were very short, barely making the minimum requirements to be police officers. They smelled young and fresh, and one had a slight accent to her speech that placed her from around Montreal.

"I think Mrs. Kelischek will be returning in the fall," Nick said. "And I'm going to take a few classes myself this summer."

"Oh really? That is so cool, that you keep still learning even though you're old. I mean, older. I mean - "

"Oh shut-up, Darcie. He isn't old yet. But hey, Detective. I'm not a student any more, so if you get a night off, you give me a call, you hear?"

Urs rescued him. Nick smiled broadly as he felt her draw near and he reached out to put a possessive arm around her. "I believe you've met Urs?"

He caught the scent of their embarrassment and knew they were blushing. He grinned. "Thanks, Urs," he whispered quietly.

The girls gave a few more polite comments before making a hasty exit. Urs wrapped both arms around Nick and hugged him. She pressed her hips close to his. "Do you want to dance?"

"I want to go," he admitted.

"Can't go yet. Natalie worked hard to throw this party for you. Don't be so antisocial."

Perry yawned widely and shuddered. He had tried. He knew Nick couldn't wait to leave, but as was so typical, no one would let the vampire do what he wanted. Perry only directed Nick's actions when it was in his best interest, like encouraging him to drink when he knew the vampire was hungry, or going to bed when he knew it was late. That was the key to being a good master, Perry believed. Not forcing one's will on another, but training the other to behave in a mature manner. Well, even LaCroix could use a few lessons in maturity. Perry trotted under a table and flopped down. He'd catch a short nap as long as Nick was safe in Urs's arms.

Nick let Urs lead him out onto the dance floor. He pulled her in close. She was soft and sweet; her body melted into his. He spread his fingers along her back and hip, every curve of her a memory. For the rest of the dance he forgot he was blind and weak. There was only him, his lover and the dance. Her delicate arms wrapped around his neck, keeping him close. One hand tangled in his hair and tugged on it gently, the other hand slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans to find contact with bare skin. For a moment, Nick's eyes blazed golden with his desire.

LaCroix suddenly embraced them in a firm, possessive hold. "My children," he said. Then dropping his voice for their ears only, he continued. "Perhaps, my dear Urs, you will take him someplace more private. There are too many mortals present to continue this here." He took them to a back room and opened the door, all but shoving them inside. "Do hurry back, Nicholas, before your guests miss you."

Nick ignored his master. He bared his fangs and growled low, drawing Urs in close again. Her cool fingers slipped the buttons free on his shirt and she tugged it loose. Then she licked at the bared skin, nipping gently. Nick's beast broke free. With a roar, he claimed his prey. She gave to him willingly. Their passion crested, exploded, and crested again, while Nick drank deeply from her. Only when she felt weak and faintly dizzy did Urs return the bite. Nick's sweet essence flowed in her, that potent flavor of honey and wine that his master found so addictive. Urs took only a little, then licked the tiny wounds to speed their healing. Nick's sucking lessened as he became drowsy and sated. They dropped to their knees, then stretched out on the carpet. Nick laid his head on her breast, one arm around her middle possessively and one leg hooked over hers, pinning her. Then Nicholas Knight, 800-year-old crusader, fell asleep.

Tracy yanked on Vachon's arm. "You are so out of it!" she snapped. "Are you taking "Nick-lessons"? What century are you in!"

Vachon looked at her blankly. "Did you say something, Baby?"

"Well, so nice of you to drop by," she said sarcastically. "Good night!" With that, she flounced away. Even LaCroix could be more fun.

Only, the master was whispering in Natalie's ear and the coroner was actually blushing. Tracy didn't feel like interrupting. Instead she took a stool at the bar.

"So, Patrick. How's Alma?"

The bartender poured her a glass of the straight stuff and passed it to her without quite meeting her eyes. Tracy watched intently, noticing the slight signals of vampire embarrassment. She grinned at him wickedly. "That good, huh?"

"Shut-up and drink," Patrick said, his voice low and teasing.

Two of Nick's students sat beside her. Patrick reached under the counter and passed them some dice. Then he set up shot glasses in front of them. Tracy watched as they each shook the dice and spilled them on the counter. Then the "loser" downed his shot and let loose a belch. Patrick refilled the glass and they started another round. Only, after they each had rolled, one passed the dice to Tracy.

"Your turn," he challenged.

Tracy shrugged. She still wasn't sure what constituted a good roll, but it wasn't like chugging shots of her "wine" would affect her. It was more interesting than either Vachon or Patrick right now. She shook and rolled, laughing as the other belched after his shot of whiskey. The next roll Tracy lost.

"Go on. Drink!" the boys urged her.

Tracy chugged the remainder of her glass and then opened her mouth, but no noise issued forth. She gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Your glass wasn't full enough," one boy said.

"You should try whiskey," said the other.

She laughed. "I can't drink that stuff. It wouldn't stay down and that is not a pretty sight."

Patrick refilled her glass and poured one for himself. "You just have to gulp a little air with it," he taught her. Then he demonstrated and let loose a winning belch. The boys laughed raucously and passed him the dice. Patrick stole a glance towards his boss before shaking and dumping the dice on the counter. Proudly, he passed them on.

Tracy lost again, three times in a row. They were getting an audience, as more of the students crowded around and cheered. Finally, Tracy felt the air inside bubble and roil, threatening awesomely. She sat up straight and dropped her jaw, pleased with the reverberation she emitted.

The students clapped her shoulders and laughed.

"That is so disgusting," Natalie rebuked her.

"Yeah, mom. I know." Tracy gave her a wide smile and shrugged. Then she passed the dice on.

Natalie glared at LaCroix's youngest. They had never really argued. Natalie had thought that they had a tentative friendship developing, but the "mom" insult hurt. "Oh, grow up," she muttered under her breath.

They locked eyes for a tense moment. Natalie was the first to look away. Tracy would never grow older. Only Natalie would continue to age, outgrowing Tracy and Nick until she was more like their surrogate parent than a friend. Suddenly she felt old. She blinked back tears and fled the crowded noisy bar.

Tracy watched Nat leave, feeling a twinge of guilt. So she was restless and feeling ignored, she'd had no call to take it out on the coroner. Then, as the dice came her way, she ignored the guilt and played on.

An hour later Patrick put an end to the game. He called a cab for the students who discovered that simply standing was a challenge. Tracy waved at them as they left. The crowd had thinned and changed to mostly vampires. She watched them through sleepy eyes, although she was not yet ready to go to bed. She realized with a start that she knew all of them by name.

"You seem pensive tonight," Nick said softly, startling her from her reveries.

She smiled at him. He looked refreshed and rested. Tracy saw the small scabs at his neck and a similar look of contentment on Urs as well. She forced back a twinge of jealousy that she hadn't been included. Well, there was still time. "Hi, Nick. Haven't seen you lately. Ducking out on your own party?"

He just smiled.

"So, when do you go away to school?" she asked.

Nick pulled a crinkled letter from his back pocket and passed it to her. "In three weeks. Can you tell me the address? I think I'll drop by one day this week and explore the grounds."

Tracy pulled the letter from the envelope and smoothed it out. She saw the CNIB- Canadian National Institutes for the Blind - logo at the top, but she couldn't read anything else. "Sorry, Nick. It's all in French. Wait a minute - the address is someplace in Montreal."

Nick's jaw dropped and Tracy was pelted with his sudden fear. "No! I was supposed to go to the Toronto site. There must be some mistake."

Patrick took the letter and read it quickly. "Sorry, Nick. They've accepted you at the Montreal location. They've enrolled you in Braille, computer training, vocational rehabilitation, and orienteering."

Perry trotted to his charge quickly, as Nick's fear had jolted him awake. He looked around, but didn't see any threat. He nudged Nick's hand with his muzzle. Absently, Nick stroked the soft fur between his ears. Perry focused on the young vampire, finding the bond they shared. Nick seemed afraid of this school, yet Perry knew he had been looking forward to it for some time now. Perry sent him reassurance through their link, reminding him that he would not go alone.

"I won't go," Nick stated. "I'll wait until the Toronto site has room."

"Nick, don't be ridiculous," Tracy said. "It's not like the French will give you problems. You need to do this. I want my partner back."

"But, I can't go, Tracy."

"There must be vampires in Montreal. Maybe there's someone there you know? And it isn't that far. I'll come visit on my days off."

Nick forced a careless shrug, but Tracy still sensed his unease. "Look, bro. No one says you have to go. This was something that I thought you wanted. But you have three weeks to think about it. Just, don't make any hasty decisions. Okay?"

He smiled then. "Right. Hey, Baby. I thought I was supposed to be the one giving advice?"

"We'll take turns. And I do want to talk to you about Vachon sometime. But maybe later. Right now, I want a dance."

Tracy pulled her reluctant brother out on to the dance floor. He was a fantastic dancer. She remembered the first night she'd seen the real Nick, when he and Urs had danced the entire night away, when Tracy had learned that Nick was a vampire... He had danced with such grace and passion then. Tonight, he danced the same. Gone was the awkwardness he'd developed after going blind. He seemed confident and graceful again. Tracy wondered at the change. Part of his new confidence was his guide dog, but Nick didn't dance with the dog.

One dance lead to another and then another. Then at dawn they snuggled close for a slow number. Their eyes blazing golden, they sank their fangs and feasted.

"I love you, brother," Tracy whispered into his ear.

"Thanks, Baby. I've grown kind of fond of you myself."

Perry interrupted. It was time to chase them all to bed.

Chapter two:

Nick flopped on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. His first night off since graduation and he was already bored. He'd showered with Urs, fed well, and played with Perry. He didn't want to waste time in the Raven. He didn't even feel like returning to the loft for a while. Nick didn't know what he wanted, but it sure as hell wasn't sitting around the loft for hours on end waiting for paint to dry. He'd snapped at Urs several times already. That had twisted his stomache into knots. She was a sweet kid and didn't deserve to be treated like that.

"Want to play some cards?" Tracy asked, as she took his special deck from the box and started to shuffle.

"No. I don't want to play cards. And I don't want to be entertained, or babysat, or read to."

Tracy snorted. "You sound just like this five year old boy Scott I used to babysit. Especially on rainy days. He was always such a handful, but when he couldn't get outside, he was incorrigible."

"Go pick on someone else, Tracy," Nick said petulantly.

"Sure thing. You're a crab, Vachon's a space cadet, and Nat's mad at me. Urs, you want to take in a movie or something?"

"No, thanks," Urs answered.

Tracy planted her fists on her hips and glared at Urs. "Why don't you just say you'll think about it? I mean, we could at least pretend that we had a life besides Nick and at least look at what's showing."

"Tracy, I said 'no'!"

Tracy jumped. Urs never yelled. She blinked back sudden tears. It seemed everyone was mad at her, but Tracy was sure it wasn't her fault. She went into her room and slammed the door.

Nick folded his arms across his chest, his expression grew dark. "You should have gone with her."

Urs adjusted the magazines on the coffee table and picked up Nick's sweatshirt he had tossed on the chair. "I don't feel like watching a movie with Tracy," she said, struggling to regain a measure of tranquility. Nick looked like a thundercloud and she wasn't sure she could stay out in the weather much longer. "I want to be with you."

"Urs! What are you doing? Are you cleaning again? Would you quit that! You are not a house servant. And maybe, just once in awhile I would really like to be left alone!"

"Nick, don't do this," she whispered.

"Do what? I'm not doing anything. I'm just sitting here, feeling guilty, because no one has a life now because of me."

"No, you're pushing. You are pushing everyone away from you."

Nick jumped to his feet. He barked his shin against the coffee table and swore before heading into his room and slamming his door just as his sister had done moments before. Urs blinked and wiped the red tears away. Inhaling deeply, she marched to his room and peeked inside. "I love you, Jerk," she said, then slammed the door again. Maybe she would take in a movie after all. Alone.

Tracy lay on her bed thinking. What was happening? She'd clung to her new family, because she wanted one so badly. Her mortal mother had been a drunk, and her father a controlling, absentee parent whose career had meant more to him than his only child. LaCroix had made her feel treasured and protected, Nick treated her like she had always imagined a brother should, and Vachon had been loving and passionate. So why was she all alone now? She buried her head in her pillow, struggling to keep back the tears that demanded release.

Everything was all about Nick anymore. They worked their schedules around him, so he would not be alone. They rotated playing with him, because vampire blood was the only food he could keep down. They generally controlled their tempers around him, so they wouldn't upset him unnecessarily and prolong his illness. Even the group therapy sessions with Father Rochefort were really for Nick's benefit. And Nat had postponed her conversion to immortality because of Nick.

Tracy didn't begrudge her brother. She truly loved him, and he was so needy. Yet, she couldn't help the ugly green monster of jealousy that was eating away at her. Life right now was so boring. It was an endless cycle of work - without Nick of course - and sleep. No more play.

She heard her door open, but Tracy kept her head under the pillow. She didn't want to talk to anyone right now.

"Tracy," Nick said softly. "Please, may I come in?"

She sniffed. He was asking? Such simple gestures of ettiquette were generally too modern for the crusader to understand. "I'm not much company," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound like she'd been crying.

"I know. I'm sorry, Tracy."

He came in and made his way to her bed, sitting on the edge. He reached out with one hand and found her back, patting it softly in small, circular motions. "It must be pretty awful for you right now, with everyone smothering over me. I had no right to snap at you. I'm sorry."

Tracy sat bolt upright and stared at him. "Nick? Ohmygod! I didn't mean for you to know any of that. I wasn't intentionally broadcasting my feelings."

He shrugged. "I know. Maybe it's being blind. I seem to feel the bond much clearer."

He looked so young, Tracy thought absently. His blue eyes were open and guileless, his expression one of sincere sympathy. She felt guilty again. She'd been feeling jealous of him, and now he must know that. Of course, she wouldn't want to be blind. She wouldn't wish that on anyone.

He reached out for her face with tentative motions and wiped at her tears. Then he brought his hand to his lips and tasted her sorrow. Tracy felt warm as she watched his fangs descend, aroused by even such a small blood offering.

"So, last night you said you wanted to talk to me. Something about Vachon?"

Tracy nodded, forgetting the gesture would be lost on him. "He's been so weird lately. Like, not listening to me - the way you would sometimes get on the job, like when you were stuck between centuries or something? The twilight zone of flashbacks? Only, Vachon's there most of the time. And he's never really been big on conversation, but now, I don't know if he remembers how to speak English. And he doesn't look well."

"Vampires don't get sick, Baby," Nick comforted her.

"I know he's not sick. But scared, maybe. He's got dark circles under his eyes."

"Can't you find out the problem through his blood?"

Tracy shook her head again. "Nope. I don't think he knows what the problem is. And he won't talk about it. And he hasn't wanted to cuddle in over a week."

A wide grin split Nick's face and his fangs glinted in the soft lamp light. He'd just discovered the root of Tracy's irritability. Vampires were by nature passionate beings, and Tracy had taken to her new existence with gusto. To go a whole week without intimacy would make even their ancient master testy.

"Come on, Tracy," he said, pulling her to her feet. "I know just what we both need."

"What?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Out of here. Are you ready to learn how to drive my motorcycle?"

She let out a whoop. "You bet!"

Perry did not like being left behind. He stopped them at the skylight before they could escape and as much as told them so. Nick knelt down and spoke to him, both verbally and through their bond.

"Don't worry, boy. I'm not going far. I'll just teach her how to drive and I'll be back well before dawn, I promise."

Perry still didn't like it, but he sensed it was important to Nick. He licked Nick's face and gave his consent. Then he followed them through the skylight. He would wait and watch from the rooftop until Nick returned.

Tracy flew Nick to his loft where he kept the bike. Then she climbed on, feeling excitement course through her. Nick got on behind, putting his arms around her and taking the handlebars. He gave her instructions, and shortly, they were off. He spoke softly, encouraging her. Tracy marveled, but it almost seemed that Nick was driving the bike, even though she sat in front. Just how much could he sense of the world around him, she wondered?

As they left the city and its crowded streets and traffic and noise, Nick revved the bike, increasing their speed.

"Nick! This is too fast," Tracy complained.

"I can't hear you," Nick teased. "The wind is too loud. You'll have to tell it to me when we stop!"

"Nick, you're speeding! We're going to get a ticket!"

"Can't hear you," he repeated, laughing in her ear. Tracy loved the sound of his laugh. The speedometer registered 165 kph and rising. If she were mortal, she would have been terrified, but knowing that an accident would only be painful until LaCroix's blood healed them, she wasn't as concerned as she should have been. She continued to warn him more because it made him laugh than anything else.

"Nick! You should at least let me steer. I'm speeding on a motorcycle with a blind driver, and you just think this is a joke! Nick! Where are we going? Are you going to get us both lost? Nick!"

Nick let off on the gas and the bike slowed down as he heard the siren approach. He relinquished control. Tracy growled at him. She pulled over onto the shoulder and waited for the officer to approach. "You are going to pay for this, Knight," she warned.

"Oh no!" she whispered. "It's Bill Drummond, from the 24th!"

Nick laughed again. He didn't know Drummond well, who had only just started at the 24th when Nick had transferred out, but Drummond seemed pretty basic. Even likeable, maybe.

This Drummond though made it clear that he detested motorcycles in general, motorcyclists who didn't wear helmets specifically, and unsafe motorcyclists were the scum of the earth. He railed in to Tracy, and told Nick he should never let her drive again. Tracy tried to explain that Nick couldn't very well drive, since he was blind, but Drummond wasn't giving her a chance. Nick didn't like the way the officer was spoiling their night out. He focused on him, hearing the mortal's pulse sound loudly in his ears. Drummond's pulse slowed slightly, rhythmically, and Nick felt his stare.

"We're just having fun," Nick said.

"Fun..." Drummond said flatly.

"And we were never in any danger. Just give us a verbal warning and you can go on your way."

"On my way," Drummond said.

He felt his fangs tingle. Drummond smelled wonderfully human, but Nick knew it was Tracy that he wanted. Drummond needed to go.

Tracy stared, wondering just what Nick was trying to do. He had such a silver tongue; he could really influence people when he bothered to try. Then Drummond seemed to shake himself. He spoke gruffly, but he was no longer antagonistic. "Keep to the speed limit, Detective Vetter. I'll let you go with just a warning this time. But you watch it. You speed again, and I'll see that you lose your license."

"Yes, Officer. I'll be careful," she said, struggling to keep a straight face. What license? She didn't even have a permit to drive a motorcycle. She watched Drummond back away and get in to his squad car then drive off.

"Did you just hypnotize him?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course not. I can't do that anymore," Nick said. He licked at her earlobe, sucking on it and nicking it with his fangs.

Tracy squealed. "Well, you had me fooled. I thought I was in deep trouble."

"You are... with me. I'm hungry, Baby. Take me somewhere private, now."

Tracy felt a delicious shiver run up her spine. She looked around. The grass wasn't very tall yet this spring, but if they got far enough off the road they should not be visible to any passing drivers. She started the bike again and pulled onto the meadow. Nick continued to nibble at her ear, now stroking the side of her face with one cool hand.

"If you don't hold on, you could fall," she warned.

Nick complied, reaching around in front and grasping on to her breast.

Tracy killed the engine. "All right. Far enough."

Then Nick took her down and made love to her until they were both well satisfied.

Tracy reveled in the afterglow of their passion, as she felt Nick's weight on top of her. Although the wind blew briskly and the ground was damp, she felt warm all over. "Thanks, bro," she whispered.

Nick nuzzled her neck again, his fangs still scraping against the tender flesh. "Oh, it was my pleasure, Baby."

"Nick? Can we go back now? I don't want you falling asleep on me; I can't carry you by myself."

Nick got up, sighing with reluctance. "I'm not sleepy, Tracy. But it's okay. We'll go."

"And I drive! At my own speed!"

Nick shuddered as a wide yawn escaped. "Sure thing."

Perry was pacing the rooftop when they returned. He herded them both inside, then swamped them with his concerns. They were so irresponsible at times! He informed Tracy that her reckless driving might not have placed her in danger, but any accident should be considered life threatening for Nick. He warned Nick about this irresponsible streak and how it was most unbecoming. He saw their sheepish looks and knew he'd been successful.

"I'm sorry, Nick," Tracy began, unsure of where her sudden feelings of guilt had come from.

"I'm sorry, too, Tracy," Nick replied, his conscience bothering him. He hadn't heard it so clearly in centuries and it surprised him. Maybe the priest's counseling was helping after all?

They maintained their sheepish looks for all of three seconds. Then Tracy gasped, "Not!" And they rolled on the floor, finishing the blood exchange they had begun outside. Perry rolled his eyes. Children! He wasn't really cut out for this. He left them alone and went to take a nap in LaCroix's old bedroom.

Nick sensed Perry's exhaustion as though it were his own. Within moments he joined the carouche in sleep. Tracy was unable to wake him to get him to move to the couch or a bed. In the end she brought a blanket and pillow and let him nap in the middle of the floor. "Boys!" she muttered.

She was watching something mindless on television later when Natalie came home. The coroner had been pulling a lot of extra shifts lately, because one of the other coroners was out on maternity leave. Tracy wondered if that was part of Nat's bad humor, or if the doctor didn't like spring, or if she was losing interest in LaCroix, but Natalie Lambert had been a crabby pain in the neck for the last three weeks straight, and so she was not surprised when Nat scolded her for wearing Nick out.

"Don't get your undies in a bunch," the vampire muttered too softly for mortal ears.

"He's only got three weeks until he goes away. He doesn't have the time right now to risk getting sick or injured," Nat continued.

Tracy shrugged indifferently. "He changed his mind. He doesn't want to go to the school now."

"What! Of course he does," Nat insisted.

"Nope. I heard him last night. He realized that he was being sent to some small school outside of Montreal, and he didn't want to be that far from home. He wants to wait until he can get into the Toronto division."

"That's nonsense," Nat said. "He speaks French, so that shouldn't stop him. And if the Toronto division had any openings, they would have sent him there. He can't afford to wait."

Tracy flipped off the TV. It was no longer even mildly interesting. "Nat. It is his choice. If he doesn't want to go, then there isn't much you can do to change that."

"Well, I can try!"

"I suppose you can. But you shouldn't. Nick's a big boy and he can make this decision for himself."

"All I want is what's best for Nick!"

"Me too," Tracy insisted. "But maybe Nick can decide what's best for Nick."

"Nick doesn't know what he wants," Natalie retorted. Then her mouth dropped as she realized that she'd just repeated one of LaCroix's famous statements. She tossed her purse and coat onto a chair. "I'm going to take a bath," she said under her breath.

Tracy watched her leave feeling a second twinge of sadness. She liked Natalie, and with any effort at all they could be friends. But she was feeling very protective where Nick was concerned. And face it, it was Natalie's protein shakes that were largely responsible for his weakness now. She felt lonely again. Vachon was gone, Urs was gone, Nick was sleeping and Nat was bathing. Tracy blinked. Maybe soon she could just go to bed and hope that tomorrow would be a better day.

The air seemed to part then as her ancient master suddenly appeared before her. "Tracy, my dear. I believe it is time to resume your training."

Her heart skipped a beat and a grin split her face. She threw her arms around her stuffy old master. "That's great, Dad!"

Chapter three:

Janette shot awake, gasping for breath. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, raising a hand to her head. Her fingers touched the light film of blood sweat. She glanced down at the sheets tangled around her legs and her eyes swept the darkened room, searching for the hidden assailant. She slipped silently from the bed.

The sleeping figure in the bed stirred slightly, an arm reaching through the darkness for her. The hand rested on the empty pillow. Sleepily, her Indian lover leaned up on elbow.

"Pájaro?"

Janette turned towards him and smiled. "Right here," she said. She hurried back to his bed and sat next to him.

"What is wrong?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

Janette frowned, then crawled into his embrace. "I'm not sure," she said. "I had a strange dream."

"Tell me about it." Amaru leaned back against his pillow, motioning that she slip under the blankets again.

Janette brushed a hand through his soft black hair. "It's strange," she said slowly, slipping her feet under the blanket. "It's something, but nothing. It's darkness, overwhelming darkness, and I am afraid of it." She leaned against her hand as she spoke.

Amaru closed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Janette sat up again, crossing her legs. She pulled a pillow on her lap and looked down into the face of her lover. "I'm not sure what it is," she insisted, completely awake. "It's a part of me, but at the same time it's not."

"Abadejo, you are not making sense." He opened his eyes and smiled at the bewitching woman before him.

Janette pursed her lips at him. "You're just not listening," she said, hands on her hips. "It's almost like part of… my family," she said slowly, thoughts returning to the dream.

"What do you mean?"

Janette sighed and smacked the pillow with one hand. "I don't know." She sighed. She grinned impishly at him and whacked him with the pillow. Amaru squawked and fought off the attack, diving for the Janette's most vulnerable spots, tickling her sides.

Janette squealed and squirmed in a useless attempt to escape, but Amaru easily had her pinned in only a matter of seconds. She hissed at him, her eyes golden orbs.

"Last year I would have been stronger than you!" she cried, pouting at him.

Amaru nipped at her neck lightly. "I know," he said absently, his thoughts centered on more important matters.

Janette gave a vicious wiggle then submitted to his superior strength. "You know, when my brother first brought me back across, I could have killed him." Her voice held a note of seriousness that made Amaru hesitate in his actions. "I wanted to kill him," she whispered.

Amaru's golden eyes started to fade and he released his grip on Janette's wrists. "Why?"

Janette shrugged. "Because he was a hypocrite." She laughed at Amaru's startled look.

All the lights of amber in his liquid coal eyes vanished. "Few would dare to speak about their masters with such disrespect," he said softly.

Janette pouted slightly. "If LaCroix were my master I would be dead by now. But Nicky, no, he could not even let me go once! Why would he try to jeopardize that any more?"

Amaru nodded silently. His eyes grew distant and Janette watched her lover phase into another reality. She rested on her elbows and nibbled on Amaru's ear. "Where are you, lover?" she whispered in her aristocratic voice. She nipped at his neck, enjoying her brief moment of power.

When Amaru returned to the present, his fangs glistened in the moonlight. "Long ago," he answered. Janette smiled at him, her own fangs dropping.

The rest of the day was spent in each other's arms.

"I shall be back!" Janette called, fluttering out of the apartment.

Amaru frowned as his lover left. Something didn't feel right about this night… no, not the night, but something. Amaru rested a hand on his chin and opened the link between him and his young lover.

She seemed happy and safe, for the moment, but there was something wrong, Amaru was certain. A moment later he was lifting into the unseasonable warm, moist night air of early June. He honed in on Janette and followed her.

Though technically Janette was almost a thousand mortal years old, she had become human with the death of her mortal lover almost two years ago. She had lived as a mortal for several weeks, mothering her lover's son and plotting revenge on his murderers. However, when she'd finally taken her action, she had been fatally shot and had been brought back across by her then brother, now master, Nicholas de Brabant. When she had returned to the darkness, Janette was once again as weak and helpless as a newborn vampire.

Amaru shook his head and focused on following her. He knew Janette didn't like to discuss her re-conversion, and yet, she tended to forget that she was not strong enough to be allowed to wander the night alone and unprotected.

Amaru frowned when he watched Janette enter a shop. A tall man with blond hair watched her enter, then seated himself on a bench a few buildings away. Amaru landed on a rooftop and watched from his shadowed vantagepoint. When the black haired beauty left the building, the blond man stood and followed her.

Amaru's eyes changed to a feral red, casting crimson shadows on everything he saw. He followed his lover at a distance far enough that the ancient infant would not sense him, but still close enough that he could see her and her unknown pursuer.

He followed Janette all over the city for hours. Janette visited dozens of Buffalo's shops, and no matter where she went the man was not far behind. Silently, Amaru dropped from the sky.

"Pájaro," he called softly, commanding Janette's attention. She whirled around a hand over her undead heart.

"Amaru, you startled me." Her eyes were dark as she gazed at him accusingly. "What are you doing here?"

Amaru slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. "You are being followed my love."

Janette's first impulse was to look around.

"Don't look," Amaru scolded. "Just go back to the loft."

Janette pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. "I'm older than you, I don't need you to protect me, Amaru!"

Amaru smiled at her and placed a finger over her pristine lips. "No, Love, you are much younger. I am nearing five hundred, you are an infant of less than a year." His voice was too quiet for any mortal ears to hear.

Janette stiffened, ready to fight, but then with a sigh of resignation, she relaxed. "Do you know who this is?"

Amaru shook his head. He kissed her forehead gently. "Now, go back to the loft."

Janette remained only long enough to flash amber eyes at him and whisper, "Hurry home!"

Amaru laughed and swatted playfully at her behind. He waited until he was positive that she was safely out of harm's way before approaching her stalker.

The green eyes and blond hair were familiar, but it was a mortal's heart that beat in front of him. Amaru searched his near perfect memory trying to put a name to this face.

"You!" the man cried with surprise. "What are you doing here? You were still at the loft!"

An arched brow was the only outward expression that Amaru showed. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice low and deadly. "Why are you following Janette?"

The man blinked quickly then motioned Amaru follow him into a darkened alley. Knowing that this confrontation could possibly end painfully, Amaru followed with caution.

"I know of your kind," the man whispered.

Amaru's eyes widened in surprise.

"I am a sort of messenger," he continued. "I've been hired to follow the woman and monitor her actions."

"Why?" He folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes at the man. He wondered who would knowingly hire a mortal to follow a vampire, especially one that knew about their existence! It wasn't smart or logical. "Who hired you?"

The man shook his head. "I can't tell you anything," he said. "But I can say Janette didn't do anything." Green eyes darted furtively around, almost like he thought he was still being followed.

Amaru glanced around the throng of people, but all he could sense were mortal hearts. Even Janette apparently had listened to him this time and had left. He turned back to the man, but the blond had disappeared.

Amaru spun around, searching the darkness for the stalker. People flooded the streets in surprising numbers considering the hour. However, the green-eyed man had vanished.

Amaru sighed. He sank further into the darkness then took to flight. He returned to the loft moments later, flying through the skylight.

Janette spun around from where she'd been standing at the refrigerator. Green bottle and wineglass in hand, Amaru had no problem figuring out what she'd been doing.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Hungry again, Mosquito?" he teased.

Janette shook her head, raven tresses slapping his face. "What did you learn?" she asked, pressing him for information.

Amaru stood against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, he is mortal and all he said was that you were not in any trouble."

Janette sipped delicately from her wineglass. Amaru smiled at her elegance. Some things wouldn't change even with a thousand years.

"Then why is he following me?" Janette asked, oblivious to Amaru's thoughts.

He shrugged.

A window shattered in the living room.

Janette shrieked with surprise. Together they ran into the other room. A rock sat on the carpeted floor, surrounded by glass. A paper had been rubber-banded around the rock.

Motioning that Janette remain back, Amaru approached the rock and picked it out of the shards. He carefully removed the paper.

"It's written in Spanish," he said glancing over it. He stood next to Janette showing the note to her.

"Trouble is brewing at home, The Mouse." Janette said softly. "What does that mean?"

Amaru shook his head. He carefully steered Janette away from the first rays of sunshine that poured through the broken window. "Stay back, Pájaro. The sun can kill you now."

Janette went absently where Amaru directed her. "Do you think that something might be wrong in Toronto?" she asked when Amaru seated her in a chair.

Amaru fetched her goblet and refilled it. Tucking a stray strand of black hair behind her ear, he passed the glass to her in exchange for the note.

"Perhaps you should contact the family and find out."

Janette shook her head. "I don't want to talk to Nicky, or LaCroix," she said sourly. Then a light glinted in her eyes. "But I do know who I can call."

Chapter four:

LaCroix brought Tracy to the rooftop of a large medical research facility. She was curious as to what they would do there, but had learned that LaCroix would never play twenty questions. She struggled to keep her enthusiasm in check and silently followed him.

He led her inside, easily hypnotizing the night watchman and putting him to sleep. Then he flipped on some of the overhead lights in a lab. There were dozens of cages, each containing a large white rat. Tracy shuddered. It brought back sad memories of the fever, and Screed's demise. She'd almost lost Vachon back then, too. Natalie had saved him. Natalie had saved Nick, too. Tracy was sorry then that she'd been so unkind to her lately. She'd have to make it up somehow.

LaCroix shuddered with distaste before reaching into one of the cages. He lifted the rat and stared at it's beady red eyes, while he spoke his instructions to Tracy with that smooth-as-satin voice that made her spine tingle and her blood throb. The rat continually tried to crawl out of his grasp. LaCroix let it crawl from his left hand into his right and then into his left again, as though the rat was on an eternal treadmill, uselessly going nowhere.

"What you call "the whammy" and Doctor Lambert refers to as "hypnotic suggestion" has no name in our culture. It is not at all like mortal hypnosis. Mortals must willingly submit to a mortal hypnotist, and cannot be forced to doing something against their will. In our clutches, they are powerless. We can make the mortal do anything, even to stop breathing permanently if we so desire. There is a great deal of power with this skill, and the potential for misuse and danger. It is seldom taught to infants."

Tracy felt the internal excitement build to a tight bubble. She couldn't believe it! Whammy lessons! She'd been waiting for this expectantly ever since she'd first envied Vachon's whammy skills! Outwardly, she controlled herself, not giving in to jumping, dancing or other displays of enthusiasm. "Yes, sir," she said, to show she was listening.

LaCroix brought the rat closer to his face. He let his eyes change to golden with flecks of red, the eyes of a predator. The rat stopped its constant movement and stared at him.

"Rats do not understand spoken words, and so the command one gives them must be done pictorially. I will compel this one to remove the nozzle on the water bottle and stand in the flow of water. Observe."

He placed the rat back in its glass cage. The rat seemed disoriented for a moment, as it bumped against the glass walls a few times. Then it went straight to the water bottle. Taking the black screw band in its front paws, it pulled and pulled, twisting off the lid. The water then bubbled out all over the floor of the cage, with the rat standing beneath it, looking like all he needed was a tiny bar of soap for his shower. Tracy couldn't contain her laughter.

LaCroix rolled his eyes impatiently. He had expected she would respond that way. Perhaps she was not yet ready for the responsibility of this gift? The next step would tell him. Unfortunately, it would probably make her cry.

He told her then to chose a rat and how to gain control over it, listening to it's tiny heart beating, staring into it's eyes, compelling it to submit to her. Tracy seemed squeamish at first. "Do I have to touch it?"

"No," he answered. "But it would be best at first. While it remains in its cage, protected by the glass walls, it has a greater chance to simply ignore you."

Tracy tried first without touching it. She quickly grew impatient though. Chewing on her lower lip, she summoned her courage and went for it. She held it firmly, bringing it near her face, then concentrated. LaCroix watched, observing her imitating him. Her eyes were redder than his had been, her passion stronger than this simple task required. He heard her lock on to the rat's pulse, but then as she stared at it, concentrating so hard to give it a command, she did not hear its heartbeat slowing. The rat died.

"Ohmygosh!" Tracy screamed, dropping the dead rat on the floor. Then as the tears streamed down her face, she knelt and picked it back up. "What did I do wrong? Oh, how awful! I'm sorry! I failed!"

LaCroix took the rodent and placed it back in its cage. He lifted her chin, compelling her to look at him.

"You did nothing wrong, my child. This skill is dangerous. By letting your first attempt end in death, I ensure that you will never forget the lesson. I had suspected that a rat's death would be sufficient for you."

Tracy had a sudden image of Nick's first attempt, as he felt her same horror and confusion, only he had dropped a man's body to the ground. "You made me kill it?" she asked hesitantly.

"No. I merely permitted it. You were trying too hard. You must judge the strength with which you compel your will against the mind of the creature you would control. Sometimes this is obvious, as in the small size of a rat compared to the brain of a more developed creature like a horse. But among mortals, it is less obvious. The minds of men are not naturally stronger than of women or children, and some minds do not survive the experience. It is best to begin with the slightest possible contact, adding to it only until the victim relinquishes his will."

Tracy wiped away her tears and nodded, bracing her shoulders. "Okay, Dad. I understand. Will you show me again?"

LaCroix smiled proudly. He had been right about her. "Yes, my child."

*****

"But Nick! It might work! And it would be for your own good!" Nat cried angrily. She paced furiously in front of the blind man, arguing her case.

"Nat, I don't want to be mortal for even a minute! I'm sick enough as it is, I don't need to be any worse." Nick swallowed hard against the foul taste in his mouth. His sightless eyes followed Nat as she continually moved; her elevated pulse pounded in Nick's ears appetizingly.

Nat growled impatiently. "But it could make you well!"

Nick sighed. "Nat! I. Don't. Want. To," he said firmly.

Nat stopped pacing. She stared at him, her eyes going unfocused. "Don't…"

"Hi guys! I'm home!" Tracy called, slamming the door behind her. The tension in the room was immediately evident, as Nick was glaring with red-gold eyes, his fangs half down. Nat was still, her expression blank. A silence surrounded them, broken only by the slow beating of Natalie's heart.

"Nick?"

Nick jumped. He turned towards her in confusion.

Nat shook her head, pressing a hand to her forehead. Had Nick been trying to hypnotize her? But that was impossible! She pushed the thought from her head.

"What's going on?" Tracy asked slowly.

"Tracy, see if you can talk some sense into your partner," Nat snapped. She huffed out of the room to search for some aspirin.

"Some sense? Why?" Tracy asked, turning to Nick. "What's she talking about?"

Nick sighed. "She wants me to have this surgery. Turn me into a mortal for a day so they can perform this ulcer surgery on me then let me heal."

Tracy nodded. "Sounds good, what's the problem?"

Frustration built in Nick. "The problem is the drug to make me mortal is dangerous. It is addictive, and it makes me crave more of it, makes me hurt all over, and I'd do anything to get more of it… or consider walking into the sun to end the pain." Red tears pooled in his clear blue eyes.

Tracy grimaced. "And she's been ragging on you about this for how long?"

Nick shrugged. "I don’t know,"

"Tell him that it's for his own good!" Nat said, returning to the living room.

"Nat, if Nick doesn't want to do the surgery, then he shouldn't have to. I think he's old enough to make his own decisions," Tracy said calmly.

Nat let out a strangled growl of frustration. "The point is, Tracy, the surgery will make him better."

"But how will the drug make Nick feel in the interim?" Tracy demanded. "You're a doctor, isn't your whole job to make patients feel better?"

"I’m a Coroner, Tracy, my patients are mostly dead. Or in some cases, undead," Nat said sarcastically. "The effects of the drug are only temporary, Nick! Think about it! You wouldn't be blind any more. You could get back to your life!"

"Nat, he already said that he didn't want to do this!"

Nat glowered at Tracy. "I don't remember asking you," she snapped.

"You wouldn't," Tracy replied acerbically.

Tracy caught Natalie's wrist mid flight and squeezed tightly. "Nick said he didn't want to do the surgery; leave him alone!" she said around her fangs. Her vision shone with crimson tones as her fingers clenched Nat's arm.

"Tracy," Nat gasped, flinching.

The next thing Tracy knew she was flying through the air, smashing into the wall.

"Go to your room!" LaCroix hissed. His eyes glowed dangerously red as he held his youngest child pinned by the neck for an endless moment.

Tracy trembled, unsure how this night had turned so wrong. She dropped to the floor when LaCroix released her. She glared up at him before she stormed into her room, slamming the door with all her might.

The hinges made a pathetic groan and the plaster cracked. LaCroix stared after his insolent child. Then the all too familiar sounds of Nick retching his last meal all over the carpet filled the room.

Chapter Five:

LaCroix closed his eyes. His once private, quiet home was rife with conflict. At times he no longer felt like a master as much as a ringmaster, striving to get his monkeys to keep all their plates in the air. But he had always been a man of action. It was time to handle first things first, and decide what to do about the source of the conflict later.

He went to Nicholas. The younger vampire had dropped on all fours, and now he lay on his side, his knees pulled almost to his chest as he doubled up in pain. A fine sheen dotted his brow and his coloring had turned quite gray. "Come, Nicholas," LaCroix commanded softly. He pulled his son into his arms.

Nick clung to him. He didn't say anything, but turned his face into his master's shoulder as though to hide from unseen monsters. LaCroix carried him into his room and tenderly lay him on the bed.

"I'm sorry, LaCroix," Nick whispered.

"Sh-sh. We will talk later. You just rest now."

"Please, LaCroix? Father, please don't make me do it!"

LaCroix felt his son's pain as his stomach rebelled against acids it was no longer capable of handling. Conflict seemed to irritate his stomach into producing more of the acids, which were eating away at his stomach lining. More often than not, the blood he vomited was his own. As his vampiric nature continually struggled to heal itself, it increased his need to feed, which further irritated his stomach and also left him tired. It was a vicious cycle. At the beginning there had been some improvement from week to week, but not so any more. Nick was now exactly as he had been eight weeks ago. LaCroix kept that knowledge from everyone. Only Natalie knew the truth. She knew through her x-rays and lab tests. LaCroix knew through the blood.

"Sh, Nicholas. Right now all I will make you do is rest. Will you do so willingly, or must I assist you?"

"I don't want to do it," Nick whispered, grasping on to his master's shirt. LaCroix knew he was not referring to sleep, but to whatever fears tormented him.

LaCroix covered Nick's hand with his own. He patted the back of it affectionately for a few moments. He saw the strain on Nick's handsome features; felt his pain and fear.

"Move over, Nicholas," he said.

Nick slid over. LaCroix stretched out beside him and pulled him in to his strong embrace. He needed to calm his child before he fed him, or his ancient blood would be wasted. He didn't know what had upset his child this time, but he would promise Nicholas almost anything to get him to rest.

He tugged Nicholas's shirt free from his pants only to slip his cool fingers inside. Softly, tenderly, his hand trailed over the smooth abdomen calming his distress. His stubborn child curled up against him, burrowing in to his protective hold. Nicholas was so much more affectionate these days. LaCroix loved these tender moments. Although he wanted his son's health and stature to return, he would miss the closeness they now shared. He was certain that when Nicholas no longer needed him, he would not remain so loving.

Nicholas's eyes drifted closed, and his fangs descended. He nuzzled against LaCroix chest, the scent of blood stirring a deeper hunger. LaCroix brought his wrist to his child's mouth. "Drink, Nicholas," he urged.

Twin punctures stabbed his wrist as his son willingly obeyed. He kissed the top of Nicholas's head. The younger vampire hadn't had more than a few sips when the sucking ceased. He was asleep.

LaCroix brought his wrist to his lips and licked at the wounds to stop the flow of blood. Then he eased himself off the bed, being careful not to awaken Nicholas. He paused at the door and smiled. Nicholas lay in the middle of the large bed, his knees slightly bent. The stubble of new beard shaded his chin, while his face relaxed in sleep was innocent. The black shirt, now untucked and half unbuttoned, seemed out of place against the pale, youthful face. Nicholas was such a contradiction.

Now it was time to find the source of the turmoil. He was much too angry to speak with Tracy, but Natalie might have cooled down enough to speak coherently. LaCroix felt his own stomach threaten to heave as he passed Perry cleaning up Nick's vomit. "Leave it, carouche," he commanded. "Go to my son and stay with him."

The golden retriever wagged his tail and stared at him with golden eyes, then disappeared into Nick's room.

"So, Natalie," he said then. "What was this all about? Or do I not want to know?"

"I'm sure Tracy didn't mean to hurt me," Natalie said quickly, defending LaCroix's youngest. Although she was still angry with Tracy for the hurtful remarks, she didn't want to see her punished. LaCroix could be rather abusive, and even though she knew Tracy would heal before sunrise, it still seemed to wrong to hit a woman.

"Of course she didn't. She would not still exist if I thought otherwise. But she did hurt you. She must learn to control her temper and her strength, my dear."

Natalie nodded. A dark bruise had formed on her wrist. Tracy could have broken it. A short temper and incredible strength were a lethal combination. Natalie realized that having a vampire's strength increase with age, and hopefully wisdom, was undoubtedly a very good idea.

"So," LaCroix said, waiting expectantly.

At once she became nervous. Somehow, talking to Nick about her plans had seemed the right thing to do, but she was almost certain that LaCroix would disagree. She dreaded the inevitable confrontation.

"You know as well as I that Nick is not getting any better," Natalie began.

LaCroix turned away from her. He filled himself a large glassful, bringing both the glass and bottle to the table, as he figured he would need the calming benefits. "Neither is he getting any worse."

"I've been working on a way to speed the process, but when I mentioned it to Nick, he flatly refused to listen."

A smile lifted his lips as LaCroix sensed her irritation. Nicholas had developed the skill of being irritating to perfection. "I see," he said slowly. Actually, he didn't see at all. Surely his son wanted to be well again? But was this the thing that had Nicholas so frightened, that he begged LaCroix not to force upon him? "What would this entail?"

"If he were mortal for even a few hours, we could perform surgery on his stomach and repair the ulcer. Then, as the effects of the lidovuterine wore off, and the vampire reasserted itself, his stomach as well as his eyes should heal rather quickly," she said.

LaCroix struggled against his rage. Was she still working on that stupid "cure"? Didn't she see that this treatment to make him mortal was a death sentence? And what if it didn't wear off? What if he remained mortal? And blind?

"You will not speak of this again," LaCroix said firmly.

"Lucien! Yes, I will! We are supposed to talk about our disagreements, not ignore them! Haven't you learned a thing?"

"Enough! Nicholas practically cried himself to sleep, begging me not to force his compliance! He does not want this. I do not want this. You will stick to treating the dead, where you can do no harm!"

Tears came at once, spilling down her cheeks at his angry rebuff. She wanted to argue with him, but the fact was she had done Nick a great deal of harm. By trying to help him to achieve mortality, she had succeeded in making him a very weak, very sick vampire. That was why she had wanted so much to find a way to help him, to right the wrongs she had unwittingly committed.

Tracy was mad at her, and Nick, and now LaCroix. Natalie had to concede that maybe this wasn't one of her brighter ideas. She buried her head in her arms and wept.

LaCroix stood then. He returned the bloodwine to the refrigerator. He wasn't really hungry, and its sweetness was not sitting well. He considered leaving her here in her misery, but then neither of them would sleep very well. And if she continued to weep, it was bound to adversely affect Nicholas, who would sense it even in his sleep.

That infernal priest had told them at their counseling session last week not to let the sun set on their anger. Then he had paraphrased it for the vampire family by saying, "Which, in your case, would mean, let not the sun rise on your anger. Couples should always resolve their conflicts and forgive one another before they retire. That is the secret to a long and happy relationship."

LaCroix did not want to sleep alone. He had fed Nicholas several times, and comforted him, but now he wanted a little comforting for himself. He was invincible. He knew he would fare better than Natalie, that he could survive fine without her, but still... why should he have to, when a few well-selected words would return her to his arms and his bed?

He went to her and fingered her hair tenderly. It was coarse and thick, often a tangled mass of waves and curls, and yet it always smelled delicious. She smelled delicious. Nicholas had told him once that she smelled like apple pie, a favorite of his when he'd been a boy. LaCroix had never tasted apple pie himself, but its memory still brought a sense of wonder and delight to his son, even after eight centuries.

His hands moved lower, caressing her shoulders. "Come, my dear Natalie. Come here." The commands were whispered, spoken to imply forgiveness rather than to assert his dominance.

She responded well. She flung herself into his arms, holding him tightly while her tears soaked through his shirt. "I'm - I'm - so - sor - sor - y! I - only wanted - to help!"

"Sh-sh," LaCroix soothed. This was something new. It was rather amusing, at times, although he could do without the mortal tears. He could probably count on one hand the times he had ever soothed away tears in the past few centuries. His way had always been more harsh and demanding, in the manner which he'd been brought up. But he was learning that this gentler approach was more successful at least where his son was concerned, and probably his lover and daughter as well. At one time he had felt that to show even a small act of kindness would make him appear weak. But Nicholas was responding by becoming more and more dependent on him, as though he desperately needed something only LaCroix could provide.

He patted her back, and continued to make soft words of comfort, even as he thought about the paradox at hand. What was it that Nicholas needed from him? It wasn't just his blood. Nicholas was regularly feeding from Tracy, Urs, and even Vachon. The Raven was full of vampires and Nicholas was becoming very popular.

It wasn't just his strength and protection. The carouche, although young, was fiercely loyal to Nicholas. LaCroix never doubted that Perry would die to save his son.

It wasn't his wealth, or his standing in the vampire community...

Could it be that Nicholas needed the love of a father?

Natalie pulled free from his arms then and wiped at her face. "I must look a fright," she whispered self-consciously.

"On the contrary, my dear. You look perfect. Come. Let us off to sleep."

Natalie accepted his offered hand. Even as late as it had become, they observed their nightly ritual: a soak in the Jacuzzi, a nightcap of bloodwine or wine, and some intimate cuddling to music before actually going to bed.

As LaCroix felt the sun's assent, felt the lethargy that stole over him as a result, he relaxed his mind and reached out to all that were under his care. Natalie was already asleep, her thoughts were not open to him yet, but he sensed she was at peace. Tracy was no longer alone. Nicholas had awakened at some point and now shared her bed. Both his children were in the deep sleep of the undead without a thought or care. Urs and Vachon were together, possibly at the abandoned church where Vachon had made a home of sorts. There was one more, a faint brush of the familiar. His one-time daughter Janette was thinking of him! The thread of connection was very thin and stretched almost to breaking, but somehow he sensed that she was worried for him and Nicholas. All is well, my child, he thought, as sleep claimed him.

Chapter six:

Nicholas awoke on the wrong side of bed.

Natalie escaped to her morgue and Tracy to the precinct. Urs was off somewhere on the third day of her sulk and Vachon had not yet shown his face. LaCroix growled with frustration.

Nicholas twiddled around at the piano, creating an unconscionable noise. How a young man with such talent could produce that racket was unthinkable, unless he was doing it deliberately. LaCroix commanded him to stop.

Then Nicholas roughhoused with Perry around on the floor. He had pulled a dirty sock out from under the couch cushions - he must have put it there himself - and rolled it into a ball. Then he tossed it and called, "Go fetch!" The carouche leaped over LaCroix's chair, while he sat in it, and shook the floor as he hastened to do Nick's bidding. Carrying the dirty sock in his mouth, he dropped it back in Nick's lap, then licked his face with that same mouth. LaCroix ignored them for as long as he could, which was only a few minutes, before he demanded they end that game as well.

Nicholas shuffled his deck and dealt out a game of crazy eights, explaining the rules to Perry. LaCroix rolled his eyes. His son must be really bored to resort to such juvenile behavior. Still, it was amusing, as Nicholas actually seemed to be communicating with the carouche somehow. It even looked like Perry might win. LaCroix turned his back. He just could not watch his beautiful, intelligent child lose to a carouche.

"I wouldn't need to go to this school this summer if you would just speak to Captain Reese for me," Nick announced, as he dealt out a second hand.

LaCroix nodded absently. They had had this conversation before. Nicholas was just complaining.

"Why should I learn Braille? I can get a voice-activated computer, and most of the leading magazines and newspapers have audio downloads."

"As I recall," LaCroix said, getting to his feet. "This whole arrangement of going to school was your idea. Now, I have a show to air. If you feel so much like complaining, you can be the "Nightcrawler" tonight."

He took his son's arm, compelling him to obey. Nicholas surprised him with his willing response.

"Really? You want me to flay those poor bastards for you?"

LaCroix brought child and carouche into his small soundbooth. He helped Nicholas into his chair and placed the microphone in his hands. "When you are ready to play a CD, flip this switch. I will load the CD changer for you."

Nick nodded. He'd never understood why others loved this show, yet LaCroix's ratings were very high. He'd been listening to the Nightcrawler's ramblings for most of his life. Sometimes, the diatribe was barbed, the words meant to hurt him, but often, it was just LaCroix's advice to a child that seldom listened when they were face to face.

"Good evening, my friends, my playmates, and welcome to another night in this my eternal dark. Join with me and together we shall play," Nick whispered over the microphone as he would a lover. "Put away your homework, get out of your beds. Let us compare stories tonight, stories about our parents. Speak to me... for I am the Son of the Nightcrawler."

*****

Urs smiled when she heard his voice. She'd missed hearing him these past few days. Already she felt too warm, and he wasn't even speaking to her! He sounded like he was in a strange mood, though. Playful, and brutal. Not her usual lover. Nicholas Knight was more prone to mourning and misery. Perhaps this was a good sign? Maybe if he let loose once in a while, he wouldn't get so worked up over things?

Vachon staggered from the shower without so much as a towel. He followed the trail of discarded clothing on the floor, nudging them with a toe. Lifting one black shirt, he sniffed it, then tossed it back to the floor with a grunt. He selected another and pulled it on, then continued to hunt for a pair of pants.

"You know if you would hang them up when you take them off, they wouldn't be so wrinkled," Urs chided him.

Vachon gave her his disarming smile. "Then what would you do all night?"

"I'm not cleaning up after you anymore, Javier. You're older than I am, and stronger, and you are not incapable."

He stared at her. She held a cleaning rag in one hand, and several of his shirts in another. "You're not?"

Urs noticed the clothes in her arms and shrugged. "I mean it. If you want me to clean for you, then you can pay me. How much is my time worth to you?"

"Pay you? Urs," Vachon complained.

She hadn't really thought about charging him, those words had just kind of spilled out on their own! Now, she wanted to bring them back. She wanted to tell him it was okay, and she would do whatever he commanded. He was her master, after all. But Vachon had never been the responsible leader type.

"Six dollars an hour?" she asked.

"Make it ten," Vachon advised her. "That's the going rate, I think. And sure, I'll hire you. But is this for good now, or only until you move back in with Nick?" He poured himself the first of many glasses for the day. He extended the bottle towards his fledgling. She nodded and he filled a glass for her as well. Then he slouched down into the easy chair.

"I think it's for good. Maybe I'll go into business? Just for the nightshift, that is. I think that will keep me busy enough."

Vachon swallowed, savoring the flavor as it slipped past his teeth and tongue to sooth his inner beast. Damn, but he missed Tracy. Maybe he'd have to do something really nice to make up. He wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong to make her angry, not since that thing with the burned out pot farm two months ago, anyway. And Vachon hadn't actually done that. He'd mentioned it to Don Constantine, knowing the crime lord could have it done right... no clues, no loose ends.

"I like you, Urs," Vachon said then. "I like this new change. You seem happier, more confident."

She blushed under the rare praise.

"How much longer until you and Nick make up?"

Urs stood to finish her task. "I'm not going back, Vachon. Not until Nick first acknowledges that he hurt my feelings, and then apologizes. I've been very patient and loving and supportive, and I just need to feel like he's putting something into our relationship, too."

Vachon nodded sagely. "You could be right, Urs. But you might be lonely for a long time. Would you rather be right and lonely, or wrong and cozy?"

Urs gathered the laundry off the floor... it would make at least three loads, maybe four. She hadn't known Vachon owned that many things! And he didn't have a washer/dryer here. She missed LaCroix's apartment, and even Nick's gloomy loft. Still, Laundromats weren't too bad, once in a while. Someone nearly always started up a conversation.

"I have to be right and lonely, Javier. I am not still angry with him. I know he's under a lot of pressure, and I don't ever want to add to that. But, I can't be his doormat."

Vachon came and put his arms around her. He nibbled at her ear, letting his breath trail along her sensitive throat. "Fine with me, Urs. I'll be here for you. Okay?"

She laughed lightly. "Thanks, Vachon. I think I knew that anyway, but it's sweet of you to say so."

*****

LaCroix shook his head as he observed the impish smirk on his child's face. He didn't really care what Nicholas said to his listeners; his program was never about ratings in the first place. He sorted through the mess on his desktop, filing CDs in their cases and tossing the omnipresent fan mail in Urs's box.

Nicholas continued his program of parent bashing. The lights began flashing then, as the callers were fairly bursting with their own sad tales. Nick was uncharacteristically rude, though. LaCroix wondered if he was intentionally trying to imitate the Nightcrawler?

One girl, who only identified herself as Susan, trembled over the phone, very near to tears. "My dad just doesn't understand me," she blurted. "He's grounded me just because I'm flunking English. I mean, it isn't like it's really important. I know how to run the spell-checker. I could make it through college okay. And Shakespeare is so DEAD!"

Nick laughed. "Your dad grounded you, huh? Susan, have you read anything by Jack Prelutsky? Here's one of his poems you might like. "Homework, Oh, homework! I hate you! You stink! I wish I could wash you Away in the sink, If only a bomb Would explode you to bits. Homework! Oh, homework! You're giving me fits…"

"That's pretty funny," the caller sniveled.

"I thought so. Did you know that it is a dactyl couplet, as opposed to the iambic pentameter of Shakespeare's blank verse?"

"Huh?"

"Can you even spell 'iambic pentameter'? You know, you're right. You're dad is so mean to wish that you would get an education, when it is obviously more than your poor brain can handle…"

There was a click as the poor girl hung up.

*****

Vachon entered LaCroix's apartment through the skylight. It was something, really, how much Tracy had changed so many others. Vachon never would have taken such liberties with the general even a few months ago. Now, LaCroix's place was more like home than any other he had had in the past five centuries. Not that he really trusted the general... Vachon had a healthy respect for him, and enough fear to stay away when trouble was brewing. Sometimes, Vachon thought he was the only one to still fear LaCroix. Even Urs had shown more bravado than was healthy when she'd short-sheeted his bed.

Tracy was still at work, Nick must be downstairs. The apartment was quiet. Vachon twiddled on the piano for a bit, and flipped through the pages of a boring magazine. He was still so tired.

That was unusual really, for this time of year. Vampires were tired more in the winter, when the days were so short. Now, with the lengthening days keeping them locked inside their shelter's protective darkness, getting enough sleep was not a problem.

Vachon stretched out on the couch and flicked something on the TV, more for the noise than the company. His eyes drifted closed. The saccharine sounds of some old Romantic movie played on.

There was fear. The nightmare returned, ever more frightful and unclear. Some one was in danger. A young one? Behind her false bravado he felt her tremble. He could not see her face. Whoever it was, in his dream at least, Vachon knew her. Someone else was following her...

Vachon awoke with a start, covered in bloody sweat. He couldn't remember a thing about the dream, only the fear. So deep in thought was he that he didn't hear or feel Tracy's approach.

"Hi, Vachon!"

He jumped, glaring at her fully fanged and defensive.

"Hey, lighten up," Tracy said, tossing her coat and purse in a chair. "It's just me. Were you expecting some one else?"

Vachon shrugged. "No."

Tracy narrowed her eyes. He'd been staying at the church for days, and now one word grunts were the best he could do at communicating? She tried to shake off her irritation and give him another chance. He was here; he obviously wanted to make up.

"What have you been doing?" she asked, plopping down on the couch beside him.

Vachon slid over to give her room, pulling away from her physically as well as emotionally. "Urs is going in to business. I think."

"Really?" Tracy smiled brightly. "I'm glad for her. But I asked how you were doing."

He glanced away. Maybe he shouldn't have come. He sensed danger, but he couldn't tell for whom. Was he the one? Was Tracy going to be in danger because he was here?

Tracy moved closer to him and tried to cuddle. Vachon flinched as if she'd burned him. Something snapped then. Tracy jumped to her feet, her infant fangs descended, sharp and deadly.

"That's it, Vachon! You don't want to talk, you don't want to cuddle, then maybe you should just leave!"

He looked at her with wounded eyes. "Tracy, it's not what you think."

"I don't think anything! You haven't given me a clue what this is all about, so just go!"

She grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. Angrily, she shoved him in the general direction of the front door, but she had greatly underestimated her own strength. Vachon crashed through the door, landing on splintered wood, plaster and debris at the top of the landing. Tracy stared in horror at the mess, and worried that she might have injured him.

Vachon staggered to his feet, warding her off. "I'm going," he said, gasping. "Just stay away."

"Vachon, I-" she started to say, but Vachon was no longer there.

Chapter Seven:

Nicholas awoke with a jerk. LaCroix smiled at him. There was always a moment of disorientation, as though Nicholas still expected to wake up and see. Then a look of resignation swept over him, and he was again himself.

"What is it, my son?"

"Tracy's back," Nick said, yawning.

LaCroix lifted an eyebrow curiously. He had not sensed her approach, and the bond between master and child was intimate. Just as he was about to question his son, he too felt her effervescence bubble over the link. How had Nick known first? The ancient master concealed his surprise, but he would have to consider this later.

"Yes, she is, Nicholas." "I guess I fell asleep," Nick said sheepishly. "Did you finish your show?"

"Hm-mm. We are finished here. Would you like to go upstairs?"

Nick shook his head. "No, not yet. Vachon's there with her and I think maybe they need a little privacy. Do you mind if we hang out in the club for a bit?"

LaCroix was calm when he answered his son. He held the door for vampire and carouche and joined them at the bar, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He had not sensed Vachon, either. Was there something wrong with him? He would not touch the bloodwine tonight. Perhaps he needed to find better fare? Something fresh? But not yet, while his son was with him. Nicholas was still governed by mortal ethics and frowned on his more violent nature.

Alma swiveled her hips by LaCroix, nearly licking her fangs as she eyed him. She was young although not particularly fresh. He had taken her before. It was only sex, nothing more, but it was no less amusing for it. He gave her an encouraging smile. She led him onto the dance floor then, and melded her hips against him.

"Go for it, Father."

His son's thoughts rang clearly over their bond, colored with amusement.

"Join me, my son," LaCroix answered him silently.

Nicholas left the security of the bar, left his guide dog behind, and walked across the dance floor as he followed their bond to LaCroix. For a moment LaCroix wondered if his sight was returning, but then Nick reached for Alma, brushing his hand up her arm until he found her face. Using a gentle touch, the blind vampire brought her neck closer to kiss her throat. LaCroix realized then that he was not weak. Nicholas was simply becoming stronger.

Alma grabbed LaCroix's hand and pulled him close. He shook off his dark thoughts and gave in to the seduction of the moment. There were still mortals present; he would have to keep an eye on Nicholas that he didn't go too far.

Nick told the band to play something Latin. LaCroix smiled. This was something they used to dance with Janette. Some of the musicians put down their electric instruments for folk guitars. The keyboard substituted for a concertina. Nick stood tall and proud, like a bullfighter, as he gave Alma's thin arm a tug. She twirled into his arms, then out again in the exaggerated rhythm of a tango. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow... seductive and addictive, the dance floor cleared as the vampire and mortal clientele anticipated the performance.

LaCroix took Alma, dipping her back over his arm until she nearly touched the floor. He nibbled at her wrist, exciting her to the limit of her control, then let her dance back into Nicholas's waiting arms.

Janette had loved to tango. The older form of the dance was a stylized fight between two men over the affection of a woman. If LaCroix were to name a dance that epitomized his mercurial child, it would have to be the Tango. Passionate, volatile, enticing, erotic... Nicholas was all of that.

Nick was totally absorbed in the dance, graceful as ever, and the crowds of sighted mortals moved out of his way to watch and admire him. LaCroix admired him as well, even as he kept his part in the dance. The fire was back. His son's passion, his zest for life had returned! LaCroix wanted to shout his exultation.

The dance ended, and not a moment too soon. LaCroix saw the shape of fangs through Nicholas's tightly closed lips. He wrapped them in his strong arms and brought them into the back room, where they were able to give in to their nature and thrill in the exchange of the blood that now burned with desire.

Nicholas claimed her throat, unthinking or uncaring, taking the portion that LaCroix normally took for himself. The master only smiled. A year ago he had doubted he would ever see his son like this again. He bit in to Alma's wrist and offered her his own. Shortly, when she had fed his hunger, he allowed himself to taste his son. Thick, hot, sweet, potent... perhaps his strange illness still kept him in the dark, but Nicholas had never tasted better.

Alma smirked at them. "Thanks, boys," she said, her voice low and sultry.

LaCroix's eyebrow raised at her. Boys? She was barely more than an infant! Her tongue appeared to lick the last trace of their blood from her lips. Then, perhaps sensing LaCroix's mild annoyance with her lack of respect, she quickly took his hand and planted a kiss on his ring. It was the traditional gesture. He nodded to her and she smiled. Then, turning to Nicholas, she gave him a parting kiss full on the mouth before leaving.

Nicholas turned towards his master and smiled, suddenly shy. LaCroix often marveled at how quickly his moods changed. "Thanks for the dance," he said softly.

LaCroix was about to respond when Nick's face went black. A look of pain contorted his features and his legs buckled. LaCroix caught him before he could hit the floor. "Nicholas! What is it," he demanded.

"Not me..." he gasped, then he recovered his strength. He stood, although LaCroix still kept his arms around him. "It isn't me, LaCroix," he repeated. His voice sounded deeper, surer. LaCroix could see that he was indeed fine.

"It's Vachon. I guess the making-up didn't go too well. I think Tracy threw him pretty hard. I sensed his pain, but he's well enough to fly away."

LaCroix clasped his son's shoulders. "Are you certain you are fine?"

Nick nodded.

"Then let us go check on your sister."

Perry was waiting impatiently for them in the hall. LaCroix relinquished his protective hold on Nicholas then and hurried upstairs to check on his youngest.

Tracy was standing where once his door had been. The door lay on the floor, it's hinges torn off and a section of wall had collapsed with it. LaCroix lunged for her, holding her throat with one hand as he drew back his other to strike her. She clenched her eyes shut, anticipating the blow. At the last moment though, LaCroix held back.

Nicholas had felt Vachon's pain and they weren't even related. How much would he suffer if LaCroix gave Tracy what she had coming? He did not want to find out.

She opened her eyes hesitantly, glancing up at him through long bangs. She knew he was furious. What was he waiting for?

"You, my dear, are grounded," LaCroix hissed. "Other than your work, you will go nowhere. You will not leave this apartment. You may not go downstairs, or to the church, or the loft, or the movies, or even to the bathroom! Do you understand?"

She nodded meekly.

"And furthermore, you will fix the door. Tomorrow, if not sooner!" Then he released her and fled into the sanctuary of his private suite.

Nick was just coming up the stairs. "Tracy?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

She reached for him and buried her face in his shoulder. "Oh, Nick! It was just awful!"

He patted her back and let her cry.

"I didn't mean to hurt him, honestly! I - I don't know what happened. I gave him a shove and he went right through the door! Oh Nick, there are bloodstains on the floor. I really hurt him."

Nick brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. "Vachon will be all right, baby," he said. "You caught him by surprise and knocked the wind out of him."

"I should go talk to him and apologize," she sniffed. "But LaCroix grounded me. I expected worse, actually."

'I did too,' Nick thought. He suspected LaCroix didn't hit her because of him, but didn't want to tell that to Tracy. He lifted his head and reached out with his senses. The night was late, but the sun had not yet risen. He would have time to make it to the church and back, if he left right away.

"I'll go talk to Vachon. Maybe I can find out what's been bugging him. Okay?"

"Oh, would you, Nick? That would mean so much!" Tracy stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"Will you call me a cab? I'll wait downstairs."

Nick took Perry's harness. The carouche did his best to lead him through the debris field, forcing Nick to move more slowly. Even so, Nick stumbled once, but regained his balance. Tracy hurried to the phone to call the cab, then she brought a broom and began to clean up the landing.

Nick paid the cab driver and left a healthy tip. With Perry's help he found the entrance and even the stairs leading to the apartment. Nick swallowed back his unease at coming here. He could remember what the apartment had looked like before... clutter on the floor, cast-off furniture haphazardly set around the room, plenty of dangers for a blind man. Coming here was the right thing to do, but it didn't make him feel any better.

He knocked on the door, then let himself in.

"Go away, Nick," Vachon grumbled from across the room.

Nick continued forward, reaching out with his senses. The couch used to be on the left, but Nick didn't think it was still there. Not knowing where else to go, he went directly towards the sound of Vachon's voice.

"Tracy doesn't know her own strength," Nick began. "She never intended to throw you that hard."

Vachon grunted. "The baby didn't hurt me. Just caught me by surprise."

Nick knew better. Some wood splinters were still in Vachon's back, long needles of pain stabbing him. Nick caught a faint whiff of Vachon's blood. He drew nearer to the voice, but it was low, coming up from the floor. Nick's feet bumped into the soft edge of a mattress. He hunched down and felt it. The sheets smelled clean and were soft to touch. The mattress jiggled. When had Vachon replaced his smelly cast-off innerspring with the waterbed? It was just filled and set on the floor, though, without a frame or headboard. That was so like Vachon. He released his hold on Perry and sat down on the mattress.

The water swelled out around him, rocking Vachon. The Spaniard groaned in pain, revealing his lie for what it was.

"Just go away," Vachon hissed.

"I will. But first I will ease your pain. I can remove the splinters."

"Yeah, right. How?"

"Trust me," Nick said. He didn't know how. But he knew he could do it, just like he'd known Vachon was hurt. Vachon pulled a tweezers out from his pants pocket and handed it to Nick.

"I already pulled out the few I could reach," Vachon said. Then he rolled onto his stomach, unable to muffle the cry of pain. Nick felt for him. Wood splinters made painful wounds, causing almost an allergic reaction. The wound would remain open and bleeding until all the wood was removed.

Nick held his hand over the smooth naked back. He saw it in his mind, saw the splinters and felt the pain. Gently he touched one, hesitating at Vachon's cry of pain. Then expertly he drew it out with the tweezers.

The wound pulsed fresh blood. "Perry," Nick called, reaching out for him. The carouche came and dropped a towel in his lap. "Thanks, boy," he said. He took the bottle Vachon was drinking and poured some into the wound, patting it with the towel. The blood ceased; the wound closed. Then he moved on to the next.

Nick was grateful he had fed well tonight, for Vachon's blood smelled of wood. He pulled six more splinters from the back, then tugged at the waistband of his jeans. "Come on, let me get the last one," Nick said.

Vachon propped up on one elbow and stared at him. "Who says there's any more?"

"You don't need to be defensive. It isn't like I'll see anything," Nick said, grinning at him.

Vachon popped the snap and tugged his jeans down to his knees. Then he lay down again.

The last splinter was the smallest. It was also the hardest to pull. The end broke off and there was nothing to get a hold of. Vachon clenched his teeth, trying to remain still, yet he flinched every time Nick touched him.

"Forget it, Knight. You helped a lot, but just leave it," he said.

"It will only get worse, you know that," Nick said. He let his fangs descend then and slowly he lowered himself. Vachon craned his neck to watch, wide eyed, as Nick licked at the small open wound. Then he put his mouth over it and sucked.

Vachon groaned, but it wasn't all in pain. The fangs pressed against his flesh without biting. It was a risky thing Nick did for him. If he should swallow a piece of wood, it could make him very ill. Then Nick placed the tweezers over the last splinter and pulled it free. He lapped again at the blood that oozed from the wound until it closed, leaving only smooth, cold flesh behind.

Vachon grabbed for his half-empty bottle and drained it, although it was blood of another kind he desired.

Nick kicked off his shoes. He had never liked to spend time in Vachon's church before, because it had been only slightly cleaner than Screed's sewer. But tonight something was different. It smelled like springtime and soap and he was so very tired.

No, Nick realized. He was not tired. Vachon was tired. That made sense. The Spaniard had been injured, and as his healthy vampiric nature healed his wounds, it left him hungry and exhausted. Nick was only sensing Vachon. It was exhilarating!

Nick stretched out beside the younger vampire. He thought back on all the times LaCroix had healed him over the centuries. Usually, his master would gloat over his weakened state, and often inflict whatever punishment he felt Nick had earned, before offering him his healing blood. Nick was willing to skip straight to the fun part. He unbuttoned his shirt collar to bare his throat.

"Nick, it's getting late. Shouldn't you be going home?" Vachon asked, for once trying to be the responsible one.

He yawned and shrugged. "There's time."

But there wasn't.

Later, Nick was sound asleep, dead to the world. Vachon was fighting his own natural lethargy as the rising sun drove them all to bed. He was thoroughly healed, not even a trace of stiffness from his earlier battle with a door. For a moment he considered Nick's master. Should he maybe give him a call? Vachon had never had to tell anyone of his whereabouts. Neither his mortal mother nor his vampire mother, nor did he demand such foolishness from his fledglings. If Nick didn't feel it was important, then Vachon wouldn't lose any sleep over it either. With a last sigh, he succumbed to his nature as sleep claimed him.

Chapter eight:

The nightmare returned... and with it, panic. Javier thrashed around in the bed, struggling with unknown phantoms. The dream changed then. He felt a weight on top of him, his wrists were pinned, and he screamed as the attacker bit into his throat. He struggled uselessly and screamed again.

His attacker turned and bared his own throat. Vachon struck swiftly. Thick sweet blood spurted into his mouth. His fears faded as reassurance passed through the blood kiss. Awareness came to him; Nick released his wrists and held him.

Vachon withdrew from Nick's throat. He licked his fangs and shrugged off his embarrassment. "Um, Nick. Mind telling me what you're doing?"

Nick chuckled. "Sure. You slugged me. Sorry, but I tend to bite first and ask questions later."

Vachon didn't respond. Already the images of his nightmare were fading. Even the fear was dissipating after the sweet flood of Nick's offering.

"Vachon, how long have you been having these dreams?" Nick asked.

"It's no big deal," Vachon insisted.

"You can't bluff a blind man," Nick said. "I saw your dream in your blood. You were terrified. Only, not for yourself. For whom?"

Vachon got up. He staggered to the refrigerator and brought a bottle back to the bed. Pulling out the cork, he drank deeply before passing it to Nick. "I don't know," Vachon began. "I don't even know if this dream means anything. I mean, most dreams are just stuff. But, I sense I'm being followed, only it isn't me. And I'm comforting the one being followed, only, it isn't me. I feel like I'm really losing it, Knight."

"The one in danger, you think it might be Tracy?"

He shrugged again. "No. I feel like it is an infant, only, it's an infant I know. Intimately. But, Tracy's the only infant I know. So, maybe it's all just stuff."

Nick brought Vachon's wrist to his lips and licked at the vein. "I didn't see your dream clearly. Maybe I need another taste?"

Vachon pulled free. "You think this is funny?"

Nick yawned then. His fangs were full. "No. It's not. But I get a little punchy when I'm tired. You should share blood with LaCroix soon. Maybe he can figure out what the dream means."

"Yeah, right. Go to sleep, Knight."

*****

Nick slept through most of the day. Vachon had risen, showered, and fed before passing the time with his guitar, yet Nick slept through it all. Finally, Vachon saw life return to the golden knight.

First his chest rose with a deep breath. He yawned and stretched, his movements erotic and sensual although he seemed completely clueless to the effect he had on others.

Perry rumbled deep in his chest, nipping at Vachon's hand.

"Ow, cut that out, carouche!"

Nick laughed. "Sorry, Javier. He gets rather protective. Sometimes I think LaCroix had a hand in his training."

"But I'm not doing anything to you," Vachon complained as the carouche nipped him again.

"Javier, I'm hungry. I'd get up and help myself, but I don't know where anything is."

Vachon felt stupid. "Oh, sorry, Nick. Of course. I suppose the carouche is hungry too."

He scrounged through the cupboards looking for a suitable dog dish. At the back of the fridge was a container of whipped topping from Tracy's mortal days. He peeled back the lid. The stuff had smelled bad when it was white, but now as green stuff spidered over the top and up the sides, he wondered how anyone could eat it. He shook the contents into the trash then rinsed the container with water.

"Here, boy," he said, setting it on the floor. "You'll have to suffer with human this morning. I don't keep cow around."

Perry lapped at the meal hungrily, then he sat back to watch the vampires. Nick was playful today, teasing the younger one and wrestling with him. They seemed evenly matched, although Perry sensed that Nick was much stronger than he let on. This was interesting. Nick had been weak for so long; was he beginning to heal? Perry needed his blood to maintain the link with him, yet he did not take it from Nick directly. Eventually, the sick vampire would spill his essence on the floor. Perry could wait. The taste of Nick would tell him much about his charge's current state of health.

After the boys had showered and dressed, Perry brought his harness to Nick.

"Okay, boy," Nick agreed, patting him warmly. "We'll go shortly. Just let me make a few calls, then how about we walk to the park first?"

Perry barked and wagged his tail. Chasing a dumb stick seemed to please Nick. It was a mindless game, but on such a warm, pleasant spring evening, it would be a crime to spend it all inside. He listened impatiently while Nick called a building supply and ordered materials to be delivered to the Raven. Then together they left Vachon's church.

It wasn't a long walk to the park, which wasn't exactly on the way home. Nick set a brisk pace, another sign of his increasing confidence and returning vitality. Perry smiled.

As they drew near the park, though, an unpleasant odor assailed them. "Ew, skunk," Nick said. "Somebody must have hit one."

So much for an evening of chase, Perry sighed. Already the foul scent was affecting his charge. He sensed the nausea return. Suddenly, the ground became uneven and mucky, all torn up, like some one had driven roughly over soft soil after a rain. Perry slowed, but not soon enough to prevent the vampire from stumbling.

Nick caught himself, touching only one hand to the ground. "What is this, Perry?" he asked, feeling the tire tracks. "Cars aren't allowed over here. We're nowhere near the parking lot. Was someone hot-dogging? Could be they paid the price when they hit the skunk." Nick chuckled softly. It wasn't very funny for the skunk, but the thought of some young hotshot coming out here to show off now smelling worse than a dump was rather amusing.

"Let's check this out, Perry. See how much mess the driver made."

Further examination showed that it was a motorcycle and not a car. There was only one set of tracks. Then, Nick found the motorcycle.

It was lying on its side, the smell of gas almost as powerful as the skunk. Nick released his hold on Perry and felt the bike with both hands. The engine was cold, but there were sharp edges. The rearview mirror was gone, one side was smashed. Nick felt a cold fear.

"Hello?" he called. "Driver? Anyone? Are you hurt?"

Silence answered him. He felt around the bike, and discovered deeper tracks in the mud, a parallel set. This biker had been hit by a car. Was the driver alive? Had he walked away to get help?

Nick extended his vampiric hearing. "Perry, what do you see?" he asked.

Perry whined. He sniffed the bike and trotted around the area. About fifty feet away he found a body. It was cold and lifeless. Nick hunched down on his heels and felt for a pulse, then he pulled out his cellphone.

"Nick?" Tracy answered. "Where are you? I thought you'd be home last night yet. I was getting worried."

"Tracy, you need to come here. I'm at the Fourth Street Park, with a smashed motorcycle and a body. Seems like a hit and run."

"Ohmygosh," Tracy breathed. "I'll be right there."

Then Nick called the police.

Before he could hear the sirens, before the flash of rescue vehicles, Tracy was there. She dropped down from the night sky, breathless and concerned.

"Take it easy, Tracy. He's the stiff, not me." Nick was somewhat amused at their role reversal.

Tracy touched the body to reconfirm the lack of a pulse.

"Describe him to me," Nick asked.

"He looks to be about your age, bro," she lightly. At Nick's frustrated grunt, she turned more professional. "Thirty-six or seven maybe. Medium height, blonde hair, tanned, unshaven-"

"Thanks for the police report, Tracy," Nick interrupted. "I could wait and get that much from anyone. Now look closer. Tell me what I would have seen."

She squirmed uncomfortably. Just that quickly Nick had slipped back into his role as homicide detective and she felt the need to prove herself again. "His blue jeans are old and faded, riding low over his hips. A white tee shirt doesn't quite cover a beer belly; and his denim jacket is torn. Not like from this accident, but like he'd dragged it behind his bike for a week. His face is pleasant looking, a little scruffy but harmless. He almost looks like he could get up and walk."

Nick memorized her description, trying to form an image of the victim. He could remember thousands of faces in great detail from before his blindness, but the people he'd met since were still vague, formless voids. They were only a collection of scents and impressions. Oh, he was able to impress people when he could identify them even before they spoke, but it was just a bag of tricks and he was no magician. The real truth was that he was terrified.

"Thanks, Tracy," he said as the first vehicles pulled up.

The scene was quickly surrounded. Yellow tape cordoned off a large area of the park, portable lights illumined the scene and uniformed officers protected the boundaries from passersby. Dozens of conversations sprang up all around him. Nick felt dizzy. Grasping Perry's harness he drifted away. The still air did nothing to alleviate the heavy skunk smell.

He heard Nat's voice join the throng. She seemed irritated about something. Nick couldn't quite make out her words among the noise, but he recognized the clipped tones. Then he heard Tracy on the defensive. He suspected he was the subject of their dispute and debated stepping in to help, but his stomach prohibited him. It chose that moment to rebel. Maybe it was the excitement of discovering a body, or being back in the thick of an investigation, or the foul smells, or perhaps a combination of them. Resentment warred with resignation as he doubled over and heaved.

Perry took a defensive stance, daring any mortal to approach his charge. His nostrils quivered as the scent of Nick's blood overpowered him.

Captain Reese eyed the dog, the way its ears lay back, the raised hackles and tail riding low between its hind legs. Keeping his arms at his side in a non-threatening posture, he called to his detective. "Nick?"

Damn, Nick thought, cursing under his breath. He hoped it was dark enough that the blood would not draw attention. Taking a dark handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped at his mouth and forehead as he forced his legs to support him. Then he tried to turn the interest away from himself. "What do you make of it? Looks like a hit and run to me. You'll give this one to Tracy, won't you?"

Reese braved the dog and stepped closer. "Nick, if you're sick, you shouldn't be out here."

"I'm fine," Nick lied. He called to Perry and reached for the harness, but after two steps he faltered. Captain Reese grabbed him before he fell. He held him firmly, glancing around. There were no park benches or tables nearby. Instead, he brought him to a squad car and helped him to sit inside. "You have only two choices, Nick. I can send you home or to a doctor."

Nick leaned back against the seat and kept his eyes closed. He was so hungry, but his sore stomach was not interested in Captain Crème Pie tonight. "I'll go home," he sighed.

Reese gave the officer the address of the loft, then watched as the car pulled away. He missed Nick Knight. He even missed the headaches the detective gave him. Work just wasn't the same any more. Then he went to look for Tracy Vetter to give her a big piece of his mind.

Perry climbed up on the seat and licked at Nick's face consolingly. He sensed the pain and anguish Nick suffered now, but it wasn't all bad news. Nick hadn't vomited in almost a week. The taste of the blood had changed. There were fewer acids in it. Perry had tasted mostly Nick's blood with a trace of Vachon's. Nick was getting better. He tried to comfort the vampire now, but Nick seemed closed in on himself.

The squad car stopped and the officer got out, hesitantly offering Nick assistance. He didn't know the man well, but he'd heard plenty of rumors. Detective Knight was feared and respected, but right now he didn't seem so dangerous. The detective leaned on his arm, almost too weak to walk.

Nick stood outside his warehouse disoriented. Why was he here? He felt the numbered keypad and punched in the correct sequence to open the door.

"You gonna be all right?" the officer asked.

"Fine. Thanks," Nick said firmly. He stepped inside and let the door close behind him. Leaning against it, he slid to the floor. Perry tugged on his sleeve, but the vampire didn't rise. Nick leaned his head down on his arms and went to sleep.

Perry blinked. He didn't like this one bit. Nick was not protected here, sitting against the door of the garage. He should have at least made it as far as the lift, but no amount of tugging or complaining was going to wake the vampire now. Perry shook himself all over, then settled down to keep watch over him.

Chapter nine:

Tracy looked around nervously. She couldn't sense Nick anywhere nearby. Where could he have gone? Captain Reese approached with a very determined manner, but she had no time for him now. "Have you seen Nick?" she asked.

Reese squared his shoulders and eyed her sternly. "I sent him home. Where he belongs. You should not have brought him here."

"I didn't," she insisted. "Captain, Nick discovered the body! He's the one who called it in."

Reese nodded slowly. "I see," he said, although he really didn't. What were they doing here? Did Tracy spend all her nights off with him? Didn't they have a life apart from each other? Something was very strange. "Well, Vetter, since you're here, I guess I can go. I was going to assign this case to you and Ledford anyway."

Tracy nodded. Since they'd just solved three cases, they had more time to devote to a new investigation. But tonight was her night off, and she reminded Reese of that.

"Too bad," Reese said unsympathetically. "You should have thought of that before you showed up at a crime scene."

Tracy sighed tiredly. Why was everyone crabby these days? She was certain that it wasn't just her. Nat was mad at her, and Reese, and LaCroix, and Vachon… who else could she manage to tick off before bedtime?

There was no identification on the body. There was very little to be learned from the crime scene at all. 'Motorcyclist tears up park, car hits motorcycle, car leaves, end of story'. The stench of skunk made her nearly faint and growing fear made her irritable. LaCroix had grounded her and he knew it was her night off. She had to get home before him and explain before he came after her with a vengeance. Finally, Nat straightened and gestured for the body to be taken away. She shot Tracy a glare before leaving.

Tracy moved away from the lights and sirens, slipping in to the shadows. Then she lifted easily into the sky. She opened her bond to her master tentatively. Sensing nothing, she flew swiftly home. She had yet to learn that when he closed the link between them it was a very dangerous sign.

LaCroix was on the roof waiting for her. She started to speak, stuttering in her fear, but the master never gave her a chance. He yanked her around, immobilizing her with a grip of iron, and bit her neck viciously.

Tracy gasped, unable to stop the cry of pain. This was not a blood kiss, it was assault. Tears filled her eyes. She would not have denied him if he had asked, or even demanded, but this taking by force frightened her.

LaCroix continued to drink from her, although his grip loosened. Then he pulled away, but did not close her wounds. He turned her around, his hands bruising her shoulders. "Where is Nicholas!" he growled.

"I- I don't know for sure. I think he's at the loft."

"I will not be disobeyed!"

She knew there was nothing she could say to him. He had to have seen the reasons for her actions in the blood. The eyes of her master were red orbs of fury, but the small indentation in his cheek twitched with the strain as he brought himself under control. Tracy struggled to still her trembling.

"You will not leave here again!" LaCroix hissed in her ear, then with a flurry of wind he was gone.

Tracy slipped in through the skylight, giving in to her tears. Nick had called her for help! If she hadn't have gone, she would have been in even bigger trouble! What the hell was she supposed to do? Why was everyone angry? She flung herself across her bed and buried her tears into her pillow. If unlife was going to be like this, she didn't want it. More tears soaked her pillow. Tracy swiped them away angrily, but still more came to take their place. Unlife was a bitch. *****

LaCroix flew directly to the loft, but as he entered through the skylight he was struck by the silence and emptiness of it. Nicholas was not here. He opened the bond between them and reached out.

Nicholas was sleeping nearby. He followed the bond to the lift, down to the garage below. There his son slept slouched against the door where a ray of morning light could find him if he remained too long. The carouche awoke instantly, placing himself between Nicholas and the possible threat. Then, realizing it was LaCroix, Perry backed down but kept his watchful vigil.

"Good carouche," LaCroix uttered. "We must move him to safety."

Perry woofed once and gave a tentative wag of his tail.

LaCroix hunched down in front of his golden child. He stroked the stubbled cheek, fingered his hair, and traced lovingly the graceful hand. Nicholas stirred in his sleep, aroused by the thoughts LaCroix sent through their bond. Suddenly, the younger vampire attacked, throwing LaCroix to the ground and piercing his throat.

The ancient chuckled, pleased with his son. He wrapped his arms around Nicholas and held him close. Nicholas's attack altered, as he became aware. When he would have pulled back, LaCroix urged him to stay. Nick drank more deeply then for he was ravenous.

"Good evening, LaCroix," Nick said, when he had closed the wounds.

"You're sleeping arrangements are less than satisfactory, my son," LaCroix chided gently.

Nick shrugged. "Any port in a storm. Take me home?"

LaCroix helped his son to his feet, silently shocked that Nick no longer considered his loft as home. Thoughtful, he accompanied him to the Raven. "I shall be with you later, Nicholas, unless you wish to join me on the air tonight?"

"No, thank you. I promised Tracy I'd help her."

LaCroix watched him, feeling strangely nostalgic. His radio musings tonight would run more poetic than usual.

*****

She rose from her bed and wandered in to the living room, seeking solace in some reruns.

"Hi, Baby," Nick called from the doorway. "Glad you cleaned up a bit."

"Go suck a nail," she muttered.

Nick knelt down and unbuckled Perry's harness. He rubbed the carouche affectionately. Perry licked his chin before going to fetch his dish from under the table. Nick had mastered the apartment now and walked about freely without his help, as long as no one moved the furniture around. He filled the dog dish with cow blood and set it on the floor. Then he turned to Tracy.

"Feeling sorry for yourself? That isn't like you."

"How's Vachon?"

Nick grinned broadly and licked at his extended teeth. "Down a few quarts, I'd say," he said.

Tracy blinked, speechless. The image of her dark Spaniard with the golden knight overpowered her. A mortal moment of jealousy was quickly replaced with the vampire's desire to have been a part of it. Vachon and Nick were just so different... then the ageless adage that opposites attract made her grin.

"I meant, how is he doing, after I threw him through the door?"

"I know," Nick said. "I brought you something. It's in the hall. Why don't you bring it in, and we'll get started."

Tracy grunted. Getting information from a man was always such a chore. If Nick didn't tell her soon, would she be able to read it in his blood? She stepped into the hallway and saw a new front door still wrapped in protective plastic with Styrofoam padding the corners. It was much prettier than the serviceable wooden one she'd destroyed. This one was steel, a light mauve color with forest green trim, and a smoked glass window. "Jeez, Nick. This is gorgeous," she said.

He shrugged boyishly. "You'll learn that when you fix something for LaCroix, you're better off going the second mile."

Tracy wasn't certain she understood him. What would LaCroix do if she had just replaced the wooden door with another exactly like it? She fingered the smooth steel, peeling away the plastic cover. This door wouldn't shatter, although the glass would. But glass cuts didn't hurt vampires. Tracy felt sick to her stomach.

"Tell me about Vachon," she demanded.

Nick took a hammer she hadn't noticed before and began to pry loose a splintered two-by-four. His fingers found the best purchase to place the clawed hammer. Tracy just watched, not knowing a thing about home repairs.

"He had a lot of splinters," Nick admitted.

Tracy winced.

"But I got them all out. He healed and slept well."

"You know I didn't mean to hurt him," Tracy insisted.

The board pulled free with a shower of sheet rock dust. Nick lifted a new board from the hallway. He gave Tracy directions where to find a saw, then he cut the board to the same length as the old one before hammering it in place. He worked efficiently, seeming unhindered by his blindness, as he repaired the doorjamb and hung the new door. While he worked, he talked with her.

"You are much stronger now, Tracy," Nick began. "You became stronger the first night LaCroix brought you across and you will continue to gain strength the longer you live. Strong emotions boost your ability, much like an adrenaline surge to a mortal. You must learn to control this now. If Vachon had been a mortal, you could have killed him."

Tracy blinked back tears, wondering why she felt so emotional lately. Could vampire women still get PMS?

"Vachon's not the sort to hold a grudge, Baby." Nick brushed her tears with a tender touch. Then he described to Tracy how to place the faceplate for the lock on the new doorframe. He guided her hands as she chiseled out the wood and screwed in the faceplate. Finally, the front door closed and held. She stepped back and admired their work.

The door was beautiful, but the wall was still cracked sheet rock and ugly. "How do we finish this?" she asked tentatively.

"I hired someone. He should be here shortly. I hate plastering and painting." Nick's nose crinkled in distaste when he spoke, which made Tracy smile.

"Thanks, bro," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

Nick settled on the couch and shuffled his deck of cards. He dealt out a hand of Gin, preparing to lose. That always cheered up Janette in the past; he hoped it would do the same for Tracy.

Three hands later, she still seemed distracted. "So, baby. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Nick nodded.

"Oh, Nick, why is everyone being so crabby ugly!" She burst into tears again.

Nick reached for her, following the scent of her tears. He pulled her in close and patted her back. "We meet with Father Rochefort tomorrow night. Maybe we should ask them then?"

Tracy sniffed, chuckling despite her tears. "LaCroix really hates those sessions."

"I know." Nick chuckled as well. He'd give anything to see the look on LaCroix's face whenever the priest chided him. The ancient, powerful Roman general incapacitated by the shy, humble parish priest! "I'm really surprised he continues to go."

"Don't you know why!" Tracy spurted. "Natalie demands it. She thinks that it will help you get well again."

Nick shrugged, but her comment hit him hard.

"Nick?"

"Maybe I should go to that school?"

Tracy waited quietly. His brow was puckered, and his eyes looked unfocused.

"Maybe I need to get away for a while, so they can have a life. I'm tired of being the center of all they think and do."

Tracy kissed him. "Come on, bro. Don't sink into depression tonight. It's my turn. And you still smell like skunk. How about a shower?"

Nick forced a smile. "Best offer I've had all night."

Dawn drew near. Vachon still had not come, LaCroix was gone, Nat went straight to bed ignoring her, and Nick was sound asleep. Tracy knew she had to talk to somebody. She wouldn't last until Father Rochefort's tomorrow night. Why hadn't LaCroix beaten her earlier? She knew it was his intention, yet something had stayed his hand. Perhaps, because of Nick… while she was irritated that everything revolved around him, she was also relieved that he had inadvertently been able to save her. The knowledge made her bold.

Whom could she talk to? It had to be a vampire. And someone not linked closely to Nick. And maybe someone young, who knew what she was going through. And someone not terrified of LaCroix... that was the problem. There was only one name she could think of. Springing from the skylight before reason made her change her mind, she flew towards Cousin Tommy's.

Don Thomas Constantine, the aged crime lord, greeted her warmly. "Tracy! What a delightful surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tracy moved into his embrace, letting him comfort her as though he were a kindly grandfather. He was, in fact, a brother only a little more than a year older than she was. The tears came to her again, flowing freely, but the wealthy vampire was headless of the stains. He cradled her, whispering soothing syllables until her sobs slowed. He had parented four sons, and several grandsons, and one great-grandson, but he had never had a daughter. He smiled wondrously at the softness she brought to his undead heart. Perhaps his next progeny would have to be a girl?

He guided her towards a velvet sofa, then offered her a crystal goblet of his finest. He sat beside her and gave her a comforting smile. "Now, little sis, what seems to be the trouble?"

"I wish I knew," she said, her swollen eyes already healing to their lustrous perfection as the last tears were reabsorbed. "Suddenly, I'm so much stronger, and I keep hurting the people I love. And they are all so wrapped up in Nick's problems, that they don't have any time for me. Not that I'm angry with Nick, mind you. He's the sweetest, nicest guy anyone could ask for, when he's not lost in space, and I'm just so sorry for him. But, I can't seem to stop crying all the time. Does that sound dumb?"

Constantine brushed at the stray wisps of blonde hair, his thumb caressing her face tenderly. The gesture was more paternal than sensual, although she saw a faint golden trace in his gray eyes. "You are still adjusting to your new life, little one. Didn't LaCroix prepare you for this?" Tracy looked at him blankly.

Constantine sighed. "Me neither. He brought me across, but then he abandoned me. I almost died a dozen times while I struggled to learn the boundaries of my new existence. But, while I am an infant vampire, I am a very old, old man. I have a mortal lifetime of experiences and wisdom to aid me, which you are unable to draw upon.

"Are you saying, that I have to suffer and grow up?" "No." Constantine shifted. He rose with surprising grace for his arthritic-looking joints and refilled their glasses. Then he flipped a switch to ignite the gas fire beneath the ornate hearth. "Vampires are very passionate beings," he began.

Tracy knew that.

"Also, you experience everything more intimately. Your feelings are greatly exaggerated, but you are also reacting to the emotions of all those around you."

Constantine paused, drawing a deep breath. "It was easier for me. I lived a sheltered life in this mansion. I controlled everyone. Those whose emotions were just too irritating, I fired and replaced with calmer, more mature servants. Most vampire masters take their infants away to a secluded home. Ask Nick about his infancy sometime. He spent close to two centuries with LaCroix, never out of his sight, never alone among mortals or other vampires. Even still, I imagine that he recalls the volatile emotions of those early years."

"So, what can I do?"

"Tell LaCroix about this. Although, why he hasn't read it in your blood, I don't know."

"He's been rather distracted lately. All everyone ever thinks about is Nick."

Constantine's brow puckered. He liked the young vampire. He had admired Nick's pluck when first they'd met. Nick had been trying to run away from his abusive master. Later, Constantine had chosen to tell LaCroix of Nick's whereabouts, as at the time it had seemed the best way to survive, but also, he identified with the vampire master. "So, what is wrong with Nick these days?"

Tracy sniffed. "He's been really sick. Can't seem to keep anything down. He spent a day in the sun, somehow it didn't kill him, but it left him weak. LaCroix doesn't know how to heal him this time."

Worry and concern shaded the elder's face. "Poor Nichola. Is he becoming a mortal then?"

"No. And I don't think he wants to anymore either. That's the really strange thing. I think he's finally accepting his vampire nature."

Silence hovered around them for a time. Constantine considered all she had told him, and wondered how he could help. "So, LaCroix is worried about his precious son, and he is ignoring you."

Tracy lowered her eyes. He had hit the problem squarely, but she was embarrassed to hear it stated aloud.

"You have a right to your feelings, Tracy. But, now you have a right to decide how to act upon them. What are your choices?"

"Ignore them and grow up," she muttered.

"That is one option, but not the best. Feelings don't go away just because we want them to."

"Well, I don't want to tell Nick. It's not his fault, and he has so much guilt anyway." "Tell your master," Constantine said.

"He'll be furious. I'm already in it deep just for coming here. He grounded me yesterday." Tracy shifted uncomfortably. "Of course, if I tell him how I feel, and he ignores me, then I'm no worse off than I was to start with."

"That's a girl," Constantine said, encouraging her. "I'll speak to him, if you wish." "No. Thanks. I know that you have a tenuous relationship with him, and I don't want to get you in trouble. But, I really appreciate you being here for me. Do you mind if I come again?"

Constantine smiled. "Anytime, my dear."

"Oh. And one more thing. I know I have a sister, Janette. Do you know how to get in touch with her?"

"Why do you ask," Constantine said softly, evading her.

Tracy smiled. She was cop enough to hear the unspoken answer to her question. "Tell her that I need to meet her? Tell her I really need a woman to talk to. If she lived all those centuries with Nick and LaCroix, surely she knows what I'm going through."

Constantine kissed her forehead. "We will see. Now, unless you want to risk spending the day here, you had best hurry home."

Tracy hugged him tightly. "Thanks, cousin!" Then she flew through the fading night towards home, such as it was.

Chapter Ten:

Amaru sat on the couch, pretending to read his book. He watched as his raven beauty restlessly wandered through their loft home. Her decorating skills had gone to good use designing their home. But now she wandered around, fingering picture frames, touching the books on the shelves, running her finger tips along the hearth, picking things up then putting them back down.

She wandered aimlessly around for over an hour. Then she came to sit beside him and picked up the throw pillow. She teased the tassel, but said nothing.

Finally he sighed and set his book down. "What is on your mind, Párajo?"

Janette still didn't speak right away. "Nothing," she sighed.

Amaru didn't let her fool him. He picked up the phone and it rang in his fingers.

Janette jumped and watched with wide eyes as Amaru answered it. He was silent for a few minutes, listening to the caller. Then placing his palm over the receiver, he handed it to her.

"It's for you, Pájaro," he said calmly. Amaru rose and slipped into another room to grant her a measure of privacy.

"Hello?" she said nervously.

The gravelly voice belonging to Don Constantine answered her. "Janette, my dear sister,"

"Constantine," she sighed with a smile. "How are you, dear brother? How is the family?"

Constantine chuckled. "It really depends on who you ask. You know you have a new younger sister?"

"I do? Who? Did Nicky bring someone across for himself?" Janette bubbled, feeling some excitement.

"Not exactly. More like, I suppose you have a new baby aunt. LaCroix brought across Nick's young partner, Tracy Vetter. In fact, she asked me to contact you. She would like to talk with you."

A new nervousness gripped Janette. "You didn't tell her where I am, did you? Nicky won't find out? Or LaCroix?"

"Relax, my dear. I have told no one about your safe haven. I told young Tracy that I would contact you and the rest would be your game. I think she's been feeling quite neglected lately, what with Nick's illness."

"Nicky's sick?" Janette cried. "But that is impossible! Vampires cannot get sick. Except for the Fever," she babbled on. "Is he alright?"

Constantine sighed with resignation. "I was afraid that you might not know. Several months ago, Nick was trapped in the sunlight for an entire day. He didn't die, but it left him severely injured and he's blind."

Janette gasped. "Nicky's blind?" she whispered. Suddenly, the nightmares of darkness and fear made sense. It was her master she was sensing.

"Don Constantine, how is LaCroix?"

Constantine took a deep breath. "He's juggling between caring for Nick, training Tracy in the city, dealing with his new girlfriend and running the club and his radio show. He's working constantly and running himself ragged. Honestly, I could say he needs a break."

Janette bit her lip. "He hasn't tried to find me, has he?" she whispered.

Constantine was silent for a while. His conscience warred with itself. Should he tell her the truth that LaCroix had not been asking about her? Or should he lie to her and tell her that LaCroix has asked into her whereabouts. Deep within, Constantine knew that the ancient still worried about his one-time daughter. He knew that inside, LaCroix still thought of himself as her master. Now, with his inner flock close at hand, he could guess that the Ancient would want to know about his granddaughter.

Finally he answered. "He hasn't tried to find you. But he wants to hear from you, Janette. He still thinks of you as his own." Constantine did not miss the quiet sigh of what sounded like relief coming from Janette.

"What's on your mind, my Dear?" he asked softly.

Janette tossed the pillow to the floor and rose, going quickly to her Indian lover. She hugged him tightly, wanting something, but she didn't know what. "I have been having strange dreams. I never thought they were coming from Nicky…" her voice trailed off.

"Young Tracy is feeling neglected in all the fuss over Nicholas. She could really use a sister. Perhaps you should reconcile your differences between your masters?" Constantine suggested.

Janette remained silent.

"It's just a thought," Constantine said, sensing the woman's hesitation. "I may be almost as young as you, but in my many years I have learned that family is everything. Without your family, you are nothing." He paused, the pain in his voice emphasizing his personal agony. Then he sighed. "Anyway, I've done my part. If you need anything, anything at all, please call."

Janette smiled nervously. "Of course. Thank you, Constantine," she said. She turned off the telephone, tossing it onto the bed.

Amaru waited for her to tell him the news.

"Nicky was in an accident of some kind. Constantine did not elaborate. He's blind and sick. LaCroix brought across Nick's young partner, Tracy Vetter, and she's needing a friend."

Amaru nodded. He'd met Tracy once, almost two years ago.

"Don Constantine suggested that I come to visit." She waited before posing her question. "What do you think?"

Amaru stroked his well-trimmed goatee. "My brother is still in Toronto," he said. "I do not think he knows that I am alive."

Janette knew about the Voodoo Bomber and how Amaru had saved all of Toronto from the crazed killer. He had flown a trigger mechanism straight into the sky, and Vachon had remained on the ground with Tracy and watched the bomb explode.

Amaru had crashed earthward, severely burned, but his twin had not come to his aid. He clawed himself underground and suffered for days. When he finally resurfaced, he found Vachon playing in a nightclub as though he hadn't a care in the world. Amaru left that night without a second thought. He had wasted enough of his unlife on that irresponsible, self-centered prodigal twin.

"Perhaps we should both go and resolve our differences?" Janette suggested quietly.

Amaru nodded. "I would not let you go alone, Pájaro," he said. "You are far to young and vulnerable."

Janette rolled her eyes. "I have taken care of myself since before you were even born! That has not changed," she snapped.

Amaru's eyes flashed. "Did you know you were being followed last night? Could you have protected yourself? What if that young man had intended serious harm to you? A wooden stake can kill you, Janette! Sunlight will not just burn you, it will incinerate. You seem to forget that you are merely an infant now."

Janette brushed his concerns away. She perched on the edge of the bed and watched as Amaru paced. He absently stroked his chin, finally nodding in agreement.

"Perhaps visiting Toronto would not be a bad idea. I have sensed that Vachon is not well. I know not what is wrong, but I think I must end this stalemate between us. He is an irresponsible, irrational, reckless scoundrel."

Janette nodded. She smiled as Amaru's eyes turned their pale golden hue with his intensity.

"Then it is decided. We leave tomorrow?"

Amaru swept her into his embrace, his fangs grazing against her throat. "Let us sleep on it."

*****

LaCroix waited in the apartment, his arms folded across his chest. Tracy dropped through the skylight. She looked exhausted; her hair mussed from flight and her clothes bore the unmistakable scent of her own tears. He was furious with her, but his earlier assault had not intimidated her into obedience. Short of breaking a few bones, which Nicholas was sure to feel through their close bond, LaCroix was unsure how to discipline her.

"I'm sorry, master," she whispered.

LaCroix didn’t move. He remained the pillar of fury, but he was faintly curious about her actions. He could smell her fear. Nicholas was usually arrogant and boastful whenever he'd disobeyed, almost begging for a fight, but Tracy was shaking in her shoes.

"Speak up!"

Tracy shuddered, gulping a deep breath of air. "I need you, father. I know you're concerned about Nick, we all are. But I need you, too! Can't you sense it in my blood, or are you blinded by your love for Nick?"

He swung his hand at her face sharply. She gasped at the stinging blow, but she held her ground. "Go ahead. Hit me again. But don't ignore me. I need you!"

LaCroix glared at her. What was she talking about! He'd been here, providing for her needs, teaching her... what more did she want? Still, if he didn't figure this out tonight, then that damnable priest would undoubtedly beleaguer it tomorrow. "What, do tell, do you need!"

She flinched at his hard words, tears flowing again down her pale cheeks. "I don't know! Constantine said I'm overwhelmed by the emotions of others, but I can't help it. I cry easily, and I never meant to hurt Vachon, or Nat! I don't know what's wrong!" She sobbed, unable to continue.

LaCroix drew in a breath and sighed. Perhaps he had been remiss in her training. He had to remind himself she was still an infant, for she had mastered so many lessons so quickly. Hesitantly, he drew her into his arms. She melted against his rock hardness with her soft acceptance. He did detest such displays of emotionalism, and yet her tears were fragrant and tempting.

"It is your mortal life that complicates things," LaCroix soothed, deftly removing the blame from himself. "But I assume you are not ready to move on?"

She sniffed, tightening her hold around him. "What about Nick? He doesn't want to move yet, does he?"

LaCroix chuckled. "As you said, my dear, it always comes back to him, does it not?"

Tracy chuckled nervously, not sure yet she was out of danger from his retribution. "But I love him, LaCroix. I hate to see him struggle so."

"I know. Come now. Let me put you to bed, and tomorrow you shall call in sick from work."

"But I'm not sick," she blurted.

His grip around her tightened just enough to intimidate her. "I seem to recall grounding you, which you have ignored. You need to be away from your mortal playmates. This is both your punishment and your cure."

"Yes, dad," she whispered. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her. He was never as tender as Vachon, or as passionate as Nick, but he was thorough, powerful, and perfect in all he did. She didn't know when he left her room, for she was dreaming pleasantly.

Natalie awoke when LaCroix joined her. She caressed his neck, but found no wounds to betray his whereabouts. However, he healed so fast, she wasn't surprised. And which vampire was it now? Her mortal upbringing struggled to accept his very different culture and she felt a pang of jealousy. "Which one this time?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as petulant as she felt.

LaCroix nuzzled her earlobe, trailing small, erotic nips along the pulsing vein in her throat. "Does it matter?" he asked.

It shouldn't, she thought. Whether he was with Tracy or Nick, it was her bed he came to now... only it did matter. She was in love, but at the moment, she didn’t like herself very much. Lucien may care for her. He may even fancy himself in love with her, but he didn't need her. Not the way she needed someone to need her. She blinked back tears, refusing to shed them in his presence.

But what could she do? Leaving him had hurt Nick. Staying was hurting herself. And where would she go? She knew from Nick's stories that one did not leave LaCroix. He would always find her. Death was the only escape and it was not an option either. Tomorrow they would meet again with Father Rochefort, but was this something she could verbalize? Probably not.

Then Lucien did things to her to drive away all conscious thought.

Chapter Eleven:

Tracy called in sick, per LaCroix's commands. She felt awkward about it, since there was a new case to deal with and her temporary partner Billy Bob was rather inept, but at the time she didn't know what else to do. Nick coaxed her into the hot tub with him, and later they practiced together, on the piano and recorder. Still, after some cards and the blood kiss she claimed as her reward for winning, she found boredom very close at hand.

Not long after, Tracy received a call on her cellphone. It was Natalie. Her voice was clipped and professional. She was still upset with Tracy about something… and she obviously didn't know LaCroix had grounded her, or she would not have called.

"Can you drop by?" she asked. "Last night's victim has a tattoo I think you should see," Nat said.

Tracy hesitated. She shouldn't go… all her intelligence told her to be forthright and explain that to Natalie. But curiosity, pride and her desire told her to go. Still, she stammered a few moments.

Nick stretched out on the couch and put his feet up on one arm. "Go ahead, baby. You don't have to baby-sit," he grumbled good-naturedly.

Tracy thought only a moment longer. "I'll be there soon," she said, then turned off the phone. She'd forgotten she had left it on. Then she glanced at her brother. LaCroix would be so pissed if she defied him again, but it would be even worse to leave Nick alone. "You're coming with me," she decided.

Nick grinned with excitement, then he shrugged. "You can leave me alone. I'm not an invalid."

"I never said you were. But, I could use your experience on this case," she lied. "Billy Bob is more than a few French fries short of a Happy Meal. Now get your lazy butt off that couch. I don't want to keep the corpse waiting."

Nick rolled off the couch in an easy movement and got to his feet. He didn't believe her excuse for a moment, but the thought of going to work again, of being included, no matter how small a part of the investigation, was intoxicating. He whistled to Perry and buckled his harness, then followed Tracy to her new black sports car.

Nick drummed his fingers restlessly on his knees while Tracy drove through town. He heard the sounds of life all around him. He needed to be a part of that again! When she turned off the engine in front of the coroner's office, Nick hesitated. Inside held so many memories, both good and bad. First meeting Natalie, six years ago, then when LaCroix had fed him - saved him - from the fever last year. Then all the x-rays Nat took of his stomach, until LaCroix put an end to it. Nick wasn't getting better and he knew it. Was he ready for this?

Tracy called to him. "Come on, bro. I don't have all night."

Nick got out, taking a firm hold on Perry's harness, then he joined Tracy as they went inside.

Grace smiled at them. "Good to see you again, Nick," she called.

He waved and gave her a polite smile. "Good to see you too," he said, smiling at the expression of speech. If only he could.

Nat beckoned to Tracy when she stepped inside, but then she scowled at Nick. "What's he doing here," she whispered crossly.

"I came to see you," Nick said, "for old time's sake. Now, what's this about a tattoo?"

Nat stepped to the slab and pulled down the sheet covering John Doe number six hundred and something. "I didn't see it until I cut away his shirt. But look at this, it seems like some kind of a gang? Maybe it can help ID him?"

Tracy looked at the strange figure on his shoulder. It was a fat pig on a motorcycle. The pig was wearing tight, tattered denims and a sleeveless leather jacket, swirling a lasso over his large porcine ears. "Weird," Tracy muttered.

Nick grunted with frustration. "Describe it," he demanded.

Tracy complied, giving him a detailed impression. Nick nodded. "I've seen it before. They call themselves "The Rode Hawgs". They are a harmless gang. Some of them are nine-to-five white collar workers who only play at being tough gang members on weekends and holidays."

"Really weird," Tracy sumized. "He looks more like a gang member than a lawyer."

Nat laughed. "Sometimes it's hard to tell these days."

"Have you told this to Billy Bob yet?"

"You mean your partner, Ledford?" Natalie shook her head. "No. I couldn't reach him. He was out and his phone was off. He must be taking Nick lessons."

Nick pulled Nat into his arms and pinned her, rubbing the shadow of whiskers against her smooth cheek. "I could make a fortune," he said, "teaching gouache young men to be debonair and genteel like me!"

Nat squealed as she tried to squirm free. The phone rang and he released her reluctantly. "Saved by the bell," she quipped. "Hello?"

It was Ledford. The connection wasn't clear and the street noises told her he was probably on his cellphone. "I've got a distraught girlfriend here, thinks she can ID the body," he said.

Tracy took the phone from Nat. "Hey, Ledford. There's a tattoo on this stiff. The Rode Hawgs. Ask her about it."

The plaintive wail that followed was audible to all in the morgue. Tracy nearly dropped the phone as she clapped a hand over her sensitive ear.

"We'll be right there," Ledford said. "But I thought you were sick tonight? Must be one of those ten minute flues, the kind that last until you're done calling in sick?"

"Stuff it," Tracy said, before hanging up.

Nat raised her eyebrows at LaCroix's youngest. "You called in sick?"

Tracy shrugged. "LaCroix's orders."

"You should have said something," Nat snapped. "I would have understood."

Nick clenched his teeth, angry at his traitorous stomach. He was angrier when the two women saw his discomfort and started to smother him. "Knock it off," he grumbled.

There was a knock at the door, then Ledford pushed it open. Nat stepped away from the roles of bitchy stepmother and overprotective parent into the one of professional. Ledford supported a young woman by the arm. Her long, dark hair had dyed red streaks in it, although the length of the dark roots showed that it had been at least a year since she'd dyed last. Her denim jacket, like the deceased's, was torn and ragged. Her face was a palette of runny makeup.

"Oh no! Duc, no! Oh, I just knew something bad had happened to you!" She threw herself across the corpse and sobbed hysterically.

Nick approached the distraught woman. He laid a gentle hand on her back. "Miss, come with me, please." He took her shoulders and meeting no resistance, put an arm around her to turn her away from the deceased. "Tell me your name," he said.

"Shanesia."

Tracy heard the silver sound of his voice and the flat, empty response from the woman. He was hypnotizing her - she just knew it! The woman's tears had ended and she was like putty in Nick's hands.

"Shanesia. What was Duc's full name?"

"Darrol Danielson."

"Tell us what you know about Duc, everything he had been doing for the past two days."

The woman stammered, hiccuping. "We're camped out by the park. Been there about two weeks. We weren't hurting anyone. Duc wasn't like that. We had a fight and he left. He was pretty steamed. It was about nothing. He wanted to go up north and I reminded him that he promised to take me to Chicago. He left. He was riding kind of fast, but Duccie was practically born on a bike. He knew how to ride! I don't understand how he could have... could have...!" She broke down and sobbed again.

Nick pulled her into his shoulder and patted the back of her slightly greasy hair comfortingly. "Ledford, see that she gets back safely."

"Sorry, Nick," Ledford said. "But I need to bring her in for questioning."

Tracy yanked on Ledford's arm and drew him away from Shanesia. "You just heard her story. At least check it out before you assume her guilt."

"Tracy, she admitted to fighting with him. Most of the time, these crimes are crimes of passion. And the paint's scraped off her car, and there's dents in the fender."

Shanesia pulled out of Nick's arms and glared at Ledford. "I loved him! We've lived together for six years! My car's old and full of dents!"

Nick pulled her back in his arms and patted her shoulder. "Sh-sh... Don't mind him. Ledford's just ignorant and tactless. I know you didn't do it."

Ledford snorted rudely. "Okay, blind man. Tell me your great wisdom. How do you know?"

Nick inhaled and flashed a brassy grin. "She doesn't smell like skunk."

A silence fell around the morgue, soon to be broken by Tracy's giggling. "Good job, Nick. That skunk smell kind of hangs around for days. Can't just wash it away."

Ledford growled. "Fine. I'll take her home. But you-" he turned to Tracy. "Next time you call in sick, I don't want to see you. Got that?"

"Then close your eyes," Tracy whispered low enough that only Nick could hear.

Nick touched Shanesia's face, stroking her cheek. "You will go back and rest. And if you need someone to talk to, you will call Father Rochefort at Saint James."

Shanesia murmured her assent, once again sounding flat and lifeless. As the door closed behind her and Ledford, Tracy patted Nick's shoulder. "That was nice, what you did for her."

Nick shrugged. "Just doing my job." He clenched his teeth to conceal a yawn.

"Yeah, well, wish I was up to practicing on humans, but the rats LaCroix gave me aren't fairing so well." Tracy grinned, laughing at the startled gasp from Natalie. "So, it must be time to go see the good Father. Are you ready?"

"No," Nick said honestly.

"I'll be there shortly," Nat said.

Nick took Perry's harness and let the dog help him back to the car. He liked Father Rochefort, but these family therapy sessions were awkward. Tracy hadn't driven two miles before she had to stop and let him puke up his nerves all over the curb. By the time they reached the rectory, Nick was covered in sweat and trembling.

Tracy reached for his hand and clasped it affectionately. The bucket seats and standard transmission kept her from snuggling closer. "Nick? It's going to be okay. We'll get through this."

"I'm not ever going to get better," he whispered.

"Yes, you will. Nat's too stubborn to give up, and LaCroix's more tenacious than she is! And I won't leave you, either."

"I'm so tired. I just want to sleep."

Tracy hopped out of the car and went around to his door. "Come on. No more self-pity. You're tired because you whammied that woman, and you know that takes energy."

"I did not," Nick began.

"Yes, you did. Now suck me and we'll go inside."

Nick chuckled. "You, little sis, are so crude."

She pulled him close, craning her neck for him. When he didn't respond, she bit his neck sharply. Nick's fangs descended. He growled sensuously deep in his throat before striking. Tracy pulled her teeth away and offered up her blood. She felt warm and alive and needed and loved. Just as weakness threatened to take her, Nick withdrew. He was greatly improved, his eyes glistening with impish pleasure.

"Okay, baby. Let's go face the firing squad."

Inside, gathered in the living room of the rectory were LaCroix, Natalie and the priest. Rochefort stood politely to welcome them. LaCroix glared. Nick didn't need eyes to sense his master's anger. He fought to keep Tracy's sweet blood down. "Good evening, Father," he said to LaCroix. "I'm sorry I didn't know you had grounded Tracy, and I made her take me out for some fresh air."

LaCroix continued to glare. In these counseling sessions he had found that silence was the better side of wisdom. He would deal with Tracy later.

Nick sat on a couch and pulled Tracy down beside him. Perry plopped down at his feet with a sigh. Nick would need all the support he could get.

Rochefort cleared his throat awkwardly. He didn't need any supernatural gifts to sense the tension in the room. He said a silent prayer before he began. "So, Tracy. You were grounded? Care to tell us about it?"

"Do I have to?" she whined mockingly, making her voice sound nasal and childish. Nick chuckled, but no one else shared the humor.

Tracy sighed. "All right. Nick. It's not your fault. Don't get all angsty on me. But I feel ignored. Everyone's worried about you all the time, except Vachon, who's worried about who-knows-what, and this sounds really selfish and snotty, but I'm tired of it."

Father Rochefort nodded approvingly. "Nick? Care to respond?"

Nick shrugged. "I knew how you felt. I'm not upset. I'm just sorry that I don't know how to fix it."

Natalie glanced at her hands. Her wrist was still sore, although the bruise was fading. She knew Tracy hadn't meant to hurt her, but she had. And more than just physically, so when the priest prompted her, she verbalized it. "I've been worrying over Nick for six years, Tracy. I've only known you for one, and you haven't been sick."

All eyes turned to LaCroix. He knew the drill, but continued to balk at the enforced "chat" session. Everyone had a turn, and they had to say something. No one could interrupt. No comments were to be judged right or wrong. Everyone had a right to his or her feelings. It was only their actions that they had to learn to control.

"Tracy is suffering from over-stimulation. It is a problem among infant vampires. I have been remiss in not recognizing it sooner. I grounded her, to keep some of the stimuli at bay. I am sorry, my child."

Rochefort smiled encouragingly. This wasn't going so badly tonight. LaCroix was still seated and nothing had yet been broken. He had actually considered changing the locations of these weekly sessions to a padded room devoid of all furnishings. "Tracy, you feel ignored. LaCroix has grounded you to protect you. How does this make you feel?"

Perry yawned widely. Vampires and humans were so mixed up. Dogs had a better way, although LaCroix was close. Perry considered himself the alpha male in his pack, and LaCroix was alpha of his own. These pups should just learn their place in the pack and live with it.

And so the session continued for over an hour. LaCroix remained uncooperative, but before the night was over, Natalie and Tracy clung to each other, crying and apologizing, and doing a female bonding thing. Nick rolled his eyes, cocking an impish smile at the priest. "See what you started? Now they'll really gang up on me."

Father Rochefort smiled. "I think we've made some progress, Nick. How much longer until you depart for Montreal?"

"Two weeks," he answered flatly.

"Good. I'll see you next week then."

LaCroix was gone before the priest finished speaking, the curtains fluttering in the breeze he'd made.

LaCroix didn't speak to Tracy when she returned to their apartment. She crawled in Nick's bed, seeking comfort before the storm. The following evening LaCroix called Diggin to come in. Tracy swallowed a dry lump in her throat. Was LaCroix going to punish her bodyguard because she'd failed to obey him? But then he withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and locked her to Diggin.

"She is a headstrong, willful, troublesome child. Do not take your eyes off her for a minute," LaCroix commanded.

Tracy groaned.

LaCroix glared at her. "You have proved yourself untrustworthy. You will remain away from your mortal playmates until further notice!"

She blinked back tears, knowing they would only further annoy him. "I'll stay home," she promised.

"I know you will. Because Diggin will not fail." Then the vampire master left abruptly.

Tracy tilted her head to glare at her bodyguard. Diggin was as tall as LaCroix and broader by half. She couldn't tell what color his eyes were, as they were deeply set beneath a strong forehead and dark, bushy eyebrows. It was hard to place his mortal ethnic background now, with the pale complexion of the undead, and his speech - or lack thereof - gave no clues.

"Nick doesn't need to know," she snapped, yanking on her handcuff.

Diggin said nothing.

Tracy slumped into the couch and flipped the remote. Not bothering to ask his preference, she found a talk show to distract her.

Eventually Nick emerged. He looked almost normal, dressed in snug blue jeans and soft silk shirt. He smiled casually. "Hi, baby. What's up?"

"Nothing much," she said, trying to sound more bored than angry.

"Company?" Nick cocked his head at the sense of a strange presence.

"Just Diggin. My bodyguard. LaCroix asked him to keep me company tonight."

Nick shrugged, accepting the lie distractedly. He helped himself to a bottle of blood, and offered some to Tracy and Diggin. The stranger declined, but Tracy took hers. "Thanks," she said sullenly.

"I've been thinking about that tattoo. It means something. I know it does. I just can't seem to remember."

Tracy was about to remind Nick that he wasn't on the case, but something about him made her change her mind. He was almost normal again, focused, intense, not thinking about his stomach or his handicap. What would it hurt to let him do a little digging? "So, what do you want to do?"

Nick took another swallow, then held the bottle at an angle for Perry. The carouche lapped at it, drinking awkwardly from the narrow glass neck. Tracy shuddered. She'd have to remember not to share a bottle with Nick again. She wouldn't want to feed on dog drool.

"I think I'll call Urs," Nick said. "I'd ask you, but I don't want to get you in any deeper."

Nick lifted the phone and called Vachon's church. Tracy waited expectantly, wishing to hear just the sound of his voice, but it was Urs's sweet contralto that answered.

"Urs, it's Nick. Can you come get me? I need a lift."

Urs stammered. "Uh, sure Nick. I'll be there in a minute."

Tracy shook her head. Nick was so clueless. He hadn't talked to his lover in days, and now he just calls her up like nothing was wrong? Well, Urs would set him straight.

Chapter Twelve:

Nick buckled Perry's harness. He racked his fingers through his unruly hair and paced restlessly. Perry sat erect following his charge with watchful eyes. Tracy grew impatient, until finally Urs's knock rescued them. "Good night, Nick," she said.

Nick smiled. "Thanks for coming, Urs. I need to see Merlin. Do you know the way?"

"Uh-huh," Urs agreed flatly. Nick seemed oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm. Now was probably not a good time to have a discussion. Eventually her thick-sculled knight would figure it out. It didn't matter much that her undead heart was pulsing wildly just at his nearness, or that he looked especially handsome tonight. She couldn't just go back to him. Not now.

Nick was talking animatedly about something. She smiled, happy just to hear his voice. Unfortunately, she pulled up outside of Merlin's too soon. "Good night, Nick," she said.

"Do you want to come inside?" he asked.

"No. Good night."

Nick stared blankly at her. "Are you okay?"

"Good night," she repeated, then drove away.

Nick patted Perry's head. "Women. Go figure?"

The carouche yipped in agreement. Together they approached Merlin's.

The vampire computer whiz opened the door for them. He smiled with crooked teeth. "Ah, Nick. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Nick followed him inside. They exchanged small talk briefly, as Larry peppered him with questions. How was Urs, how was Tracy, and what did he hear of Janette… Nick answered patiently, although his mind was on the case. Finally, Larry got up, signifying an end.

"You called Urs to bring you here… what's wrong with getting here on your own steam?"

Nick shrugged. "I could have called a cab. But LaCroix's been worse lately."

"Only because every time he lets you out of his sight, you get yourself in trouble. But you should be ashamed, depending on younger vampires for anything. Why haven't you learned Braille yet?" Nick squirmed. There weren't many vampires that could speak to him like that, but Larry was one of them. He was near the same age, and not related; their friendship, while never close, spanned centuries. "I kept hoping it wouldn't be necessary," Nick confessed lamely.

"We learn new things so easily, Nick. That's no excuse. You should be as independent as possible, and if your eyesight returns tomorrow, you are not really out anything."

Nick nodded. "I know. You're right. I'm signed up to attend school this summer."

"Well, why didn't you say so? Now, why are you here?"

And that was that. Nick told him about the familiar tattoo. Larry hacked into the precinct mainframe to access the current file on Duc Danielson's murder. Then they scanned the archives for any other reference to the Rode Hawgs. Nick hovered over Larry's shoulder, suggesting new searches, absorbed in the task and oblivious to the passing time. *****

When the phone rang, Tracy glared at the oaf chained to her wrist. "Mind if I answer it?"

He said nothing, but passed the phone to her.

"Hello?" she spoke.

"Cousin Tommy," Constantine said lightly. "I have some one here who wants very much to meet you. Can you come over?"

Tracy felt excitement course through her. Could it be the sister she'd heard so much about? "But, can she come here?"

"She is not ready yet to do so," Constantine said.

Tracy pushed the mute button on the phone. "Well? Can you take me over there?" She didn't need to elaborate, since his fine hearing would have heard the conversation.

"LaCroix said to keep you away from mortals," Diggin said tersely.

"So we can go. Tommy," she said again in to the receiver, "I'll be right there, but keep your mortal servants away. Don't ask now, I'll explain later."

She smiled brightly as she passed the phone back to her jailer. "Let's go!"

Diggin grasped her wrist, reinforcing the titanium cuffs with vampire strength. "We go together," he said.

"Yeah yeah. I hear you."

Janette fussed with her hair, although nothing was out of place. Amaru smiled at her feminine routines, a sign of her nervousness.

"Perhaps I should wear the blue gown?"

Amaru chuckled. "Ten minutes ago you said the blue was too formal." He watched as she pulled out the hairpins and began to brush again the long, smooth tresses. He reached for the brush from her and took the simple task upon himself. He loved the feel of silk between his fingers. "I met Tracy once," he said.

"I avoided meeting her," Janette replied. "When I was here last, I was wanted for murder, and she was a zealous new detective."

"Tracy is young, enthusiastic, energetic, and exactly what she appears to be," Amaru explained. "She would never have a hidden agenda."

Janette grabbed the brush from him and tossed it onto the dresser. "I am not nervous!"

She repiled her hair and jabbed it with pins. "I would prefer to meet her alone. Do you mind?"

Amaru gallantly kissed the back of her hand. "As you wish, mosquito. I will return before dawn." With a whisper of air, he was gone.

Janette held the doorknob and sighed, then boldly ventured forth.

She went to the balcony overlooking the formal hall where she could see the visitor still waited with her boorish companion. She tingled with a sense of family, but it was not close. It further reminded her that she was no longer LaCroix's. She shook off the regret and stared at the young vampire haughtily. Tracy had replaced her in the family.

Tracy felt a vampire's approach and glanced up. Her hopes rose and fell in an instant. The solace she was seeking would not come from this disdainful aristocrat. In life Janette was far more beautiful than police sketch on her wanted poster. Raven hair piled elegantly like a crown, a crimson velvet evening gown with gold trim and long, black gloves on seemingly boneless arms.

"Uh, hiya, sis," Tracy said nervously.

Janette floated down the stairs regally. She raised her eyebrow at her. "Technically, I am not your sister. I am your niece."

Tracy giggled. "I love vampire relationships. And Cousin Tommy is Nick's little brother."

Janette felt a grin threaten to break free. "Cousin Tommy"? That was cute. Then she swept Tracy's arm into hers and gestured towards the library. "Now, we must have us a little 'girl talk'." She was about to dismiss Tracy's companion when she saw the glint of metal between them. She arched her brow at Tracy, glancing at the handcuff. "Let me guess, LaCroix's idea of 'fun'?"

"Dad's method of trying to keep me home," Tracy explained.

"Perhaps he will not comprehend what he hears, then."

Diggin grunted pulling the key from his jean's pocket, dangling it between the women. "I was a pickpocket in my mortal life," he said. "But if you leave without me, I will personally dissect you… then turn your body parts over to LaCroix."

Tracy bounced excitedly, throwing her arms around his neck to kiss his cheek. "Oh, thank you!"

Diggin turned around to hide his amber eyes.

Janette ignored him, pulling Tracy into the library, closing the doors tightly behind them. "Now, tell me about yourself!"

******

Chapter thirteen:

"Here's something," Merlin said, rubbing his neck and yawning. "Michael Lang, a member of the Rode Hawgs, was found dead at 3 am last Saturday morning - this is dated last summer, June 3rd. It was ruled an accident."

Nick nodded. "I remember that. He was a nice looking kid, hadn't been with the gang for long. They think he lost control of the bike. Who were the survivors?"

Merlin scanned the police report, but no names were listed. He exited, and hacked in to the newspaper's archives to find the obituary. "Michael Benson is survived by his grandmother, Arla Remmington."

Nick shrugged. "It feels like a dead end."

"Yes, and if you don't get out of here, I'll be stuck with you all day."

Nick laughed. Dawn felt a few hours away yet, but it was Merlin's tactful way of telling him that he was expecting company. "Okay. I'm going."

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed the church. He was surprised when Vachon answered, but the Spaniard was willing to come get him.

Vachon came on the bike. He shrugged awkwardly. "I forgot about your dog, Nick. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Perry - go to LaCroix. I'll be there shortly."

Perry growled low in his chest. Nick patted his head affectionately. "It's okay boy. Trust me."

Perry barked once. Then he trotted off without a backward glance.

Nick climbed on behind Vachon, remembering their last ride together. He smiled wistfully, holding on to Vachon's waist while the bike rumbled beneath them.

"Where to, Nick?" Vachon asked.

Nick thought about it. He had expected to return to the Raven, but maybe Vachon's church would do just as well. Then, he had another idea. "Let's go to the park. Join the Rode Hawgs for the day?"

Vachon laughed. "Are you serious? Why, Nick?"

"Because somebody murdered a Rode Hawg two days ago, and because they're camping out. It'll be different."

Vachon shrugged. "It's your neck," he muttered.

He drove out of the city, to the park that bordered the lake. There was a small village of tents pitched, a loose fence made of motorcycles encircling them, and wood smoke and fish cooking. Vachon slowed, approaching the gang cautiously.

All eyes turned on him. They stood, menacing and numerous. Vachon held his breath. He wasn't afraid of a handful of mortals, but now with Nick to protect he felt the best thing to do would be to leave, quickly. Then someone shouted. "Hey, Knight! How ya been!"

"You could have told me you knew them," Vachon snorted.

Nick laughed. "It's been a few years. Come on, Javier."

The bikers were solemn, mostly, although some were drunk. The general mood was one of grief. They had lost a friend and comrade. Nick hadn't thought that it was an internal problem, but it was good to be sure. He visited with them, shaking hands, and walked all through the camp. There was no smell of skunk, either. He asked for a beer, which he didn't drink. He just waved the can around, sloshing some of the contents on the ground and imitated them in the relaxed manner of the inebriated. Vachon suspected that Nick was intentionally encouraging them to consume more. As an hour passed, they grew in volume and were answering any question openly. Vachon grinned. Nick was many things, but he really was a different sort of cop.

"We had no quarrel among us," one man with an eagle tattooed on his beer belly explained. "But Mickey Lang's death hit hard. His uncle kept coming around, stirring up trouble. Said we killed him and he was going to prove it."

"I read the police report," Nick replied. "It was ruled accidental."

"Yeah, well, his uncle said it was our fault, like we dared him to drive recklessly or something."

Nick yawned again. Vachon grew uneasy. The vampire instinct to seek shelter would not be ignored. He nudged Nick nervously. "Knight, you're slipping," he warned, catching a glimpse of fangs. "There isn't time now to get back to the Raven before dawn. Where are we going to sleep?"

"We have an extra tent," one of the bikers volunteered. "It's Shanesia's. The police rummaged through it already and they took Duc's tent and things. She left to go stay at her sister's."

"That'd be fine," Nick said.

Vachon glanced up... then froze. His twin's ghost stared at him from beyond the shadows. Vachon swallowed, breaking out in a sweat. Nick reached for him, nudging him. When he looked back into the shadows, the figure was no longer there. He shook himself. Maybe he was more tired than he realized.

The biker pointed it out to Vachon. They had partied all night, and now were ready to sleep. It was part of the reason Nick had enjoyed hanging out with them that one summer; their lifestyle was vampire-friendly.

Vachon eyed the flimsy canvas tent. There were a few weak spots where sunlight filtered through. He rummaged through the tent and pulled out a tarp, some trash sacks and duct tape, and a blanket, reinforcing the tent to make it safe. He might survive the day with only a singeing, but he wouldn't put Nick at that risk.

Nick crawled inside. It smelled musty and woodsy and faintly perfumed. He felt the pillows and sleeping bags, which had been zippered together. It was curious. If Shanesia and Duc each had their own tents, then with whom was she sleeping? He unzipped the bags part way and tossed back the upper one to snuggle down. When Vachon joined him, Nick struggled to focus although his tongue felt leaden.

"Tell me what you see inside?" he asked.

Vachon lay beside him, pulling the top bag up and doing up the zipper. "Sleep, Nick. Play cop tomorrow."

"But who was here with Shanesia?" Nick blinked, rubbing at a sleepy eye.

Vachon growled. If Nick kept that up much longer, Vachon would never be able to sleep. He looked around quickly. "I see girl stuff. Make up, shirts, sweaters, four pair of shoes - size seven and nine."

"Hm," Nick murmured. "So she shared with a girl, a sister perhaps. Good night."

"Night," Vachon grumbled. Next time, LaCroix could pick up his own son.

All around he heard the sounds of the bikers retiring. Some were too drunk to copulate any more. Some were actively involved with their partners. Vachon grew more frustrated. He clapped his hands over his ears, but it was hard to sleep like that.

Nick was exquisite in sleep. His face, much older that Vachon's, was relaxed and eternally youthful. The soft stubble of beard gave him almost an adolescent quality. He reached out towards Nick, but held back. He was being selfish. Nick was asleep, and needed his rest. "Shit," Vachon said. They had no supplies here. Now, if Nick got hungry during the day, Vachon would have to provide for him, but he didn't dare take in return. "LaCroix, you owe me," he grumbled. It seemed like hours before he went to sleep.

******

Amaru flew aimlessly above the city. Observing it from the air made it look like any nameless city. On his last visit, he'd known Toronto from the underside while searching for Voodoo's bombs in the sewers. He'd never really seen much of the topside.

He landed on the soft bank of Lake Ontario. For several minutes he watched the reflections of Father Moon dancing on the playful waves lapping at the bay.

Something about this place felt familiar. Amaru knew that he'd never been there, but perhaps his brother had. He leaned against the solid trunk of an old tree. He could sense the presence of a carouche buried here and for some inexplicable reason, this bothered his twin.

Amaru touched the dirt at the base of the tree briefly before walking briskly away. He would never understand Vachon.

Knowing that Vachon's church was near, Amaru headed in the opposite direction. He went several feet before the call of the lake over powered him. He removed his shoes and continued his trek with the waves teasing his feet with its chilly waters.

Dying campfires and muted conversations caught his attention. A crowd of mortals grieving over the death of a friend was drowning their sorrows in beer.

One particularly inebriated man suddenly broke the somber mood. "If I ever get my hands on that cop, I'll kill 'em! Duc shouldn't'a died!"

Amaru recalled the aquipas from his Mother. She had charged him to stop senseless killing, and this sounded suspicious.

He moved with the silence of the Inca, the strength of a warrior and the speed of a vampire. From the shadows of night he looked for the speaker.

His eyes fell on the sleepy forms of two vampires appearing to drink with the mortals. Nicholas had changed since their last meeting. He was thinner, paler maybe, and more relaxed. Nick yawned widely; his fangs visible even from this distance.

Nick's vampire companion nudged his shoulder. Nick quickly raised a hand to his mouth, covering his fangs.

Amaru felt a respect for the great task of caring for and protecting a blind vampire. It had to be a constant responsibility.

Nick's companion glanced over the dying embers of the campfire, looking directly at him.

Soft brown eyes and shaggy black hair, the scruffy, eternally youthful face stared at him without recognition.

Amaru was shocked. He took to the air without thinking. He never thought seeing his twin would distress him this much! Vachon- who wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone but himself- was now caring for Nicholas? It was a strange turn of events and it didn't make sense. Dawn would soon approach and Amaru flew back to Don Constantine's home.

Constantine knocked on the solid doors of his library. "Cousin? I have a late night snack for you."

Tracy threw open the door. "We're going to have a party! And you're invited!"

Constantine nearly spilled the tray as she hugged him enthusiastically. He chuckled and set it down on an end table. "Now, what's this about a party?"

Janette took his other arm and led him to the sofa. "Dear Uncle, we thought we would throw Nicky a going away party. A small, private affair, with only a few hundred guests. I imagine a Latin theme - Nicky loves to tango. Can you suggest a suitable location?"

"I own a lovely little club just out of town. Las ****. It has an adjoining motel, so the guests need not hurry home." Tracy squealed. "Perfect! I can't wait!" She served the snack in silver-edged crystal goblets with no more class than if she'd been serving cokes to children. "Will you teach me the tango? I've always wanted to learn. I can disco some, and LaCroix taught me to waltz, but he's so stodgy sometimes. I don't think he even knows how, anyway. Do you think he will come? Oh, Janette! I'm so glad you're here!"

Janette and Constantine exchanged knowing looks. Then Diggin entered and the mood changed.

"Either we go now, or you call your master," he stated.

"He is going to shit bricks," she muttered under her breath.

Janette smothered a giggle behind an elegant hand.

Constantine lifted the phone and dialed. He cleared his throat and seemed to sit up straighter. "Good evening, master," he said. "I have thoroughly enjoyed this time with your youngest and her associate. Might I persuade you to permit them to stay the day?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line that was heard by all the vampires present. Diggin took the phone then. "LaCroix. I have kept her away from all mortals. Having spent the past eleven hours with her, I am convinced that you would benefit from this respite."

LaCroix chuckled. "Very well, Diggin. Have her back here tomorrow night promptly at ten. Good day."

When the line was disconnected, Tracy shrieked. "Yes! Yes-yes-yes! Oh, thanks, Diggin! Thanks, Cousin!"

Even when her jailer changed her to him again, her enthusiasm was not dampened. She hugged her newfound relative, and Cousin Tommy, and even Diggin. "Good day, everyone!"

*****

"We should call this the "mad house"," Janette sputtered indignantly, as she snuggled in beside her lover.

Amaru kissed her forehead. "Why is that, mosquito?"

"Someone named Urs is mad at my Nicky, Tracy is mad at Vachon, you are mad at Vachon, Natalie is mad at Tracy, and LaCroix is mad at everyone!" She laughed softly. "At least no one is mad at me."

"Yet." Janette whacked him playfully. "You are as bad as they are." She sat up then and faced him, her face more youthful and excited than he had seen in many months. "And so Tracy and I are planning a party! It will be a surprise for Nicky, and no one may leave until all these petty little problems are solved. Do you agree?"

"I would not have, had you asked me earlier," Amaru answered truthfully.

She looked at him questioningly.

"I saw him tonight," Amaru said. "He seemed different. Not quite the bastard I remembered."

"Did you speak to him?"

He shook his head. Artfully changing the subject, he admonished her on the dangers of the city. "You will keep me informed on all your plans."

"Yes, my love," she whispered.

*****

Tracy was the first to awaken. Her fangs had erupted as her stomach growled, demanding to be fed, but she was still prisoner to the slumbering giant beside her. The only way to silence her hunger would be to wake him. First, she tried stroking his jaw. "Diggin? Come on, Diggin. I'm hungry."

He did not move, but continued in the deep sleep of the undead.

Next, she shook him, and tried nibbling his throat. That always worked with Nick. Still, Diggin did not stir, did not even breathe.

Then, impishly, she reached for the pocket he had drawn the key from the night before.

Instantly, Diggin's hand shot out, painfully clamping around her slim wrist. "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah. Crazy. Come on, Diggin. I'm hungry and I need a shower."

Diggin glared at her, unmoving.

"Like, the sun is still up. Where the hell do you think I'm going to go?"

"You may shower. I will bring you back something." He unlocked her then.

*****

Mid-day was a repeat of the last time Nick had spent the day with him. Vachon's nightmare returned and he attached Nick. The older vampire, refreshed from sleep, was stronger and bit him back. When Nick became aware of Vachon, he did not immediately withdraw. Vachon's flavor, spicy and exotic, filled him. When he released him, Nick held him still with one hand. "Now. Tell me this nightmare."

Vachon complied. "I'm walking down a crowded street. And some one is watching me. An enforcer, I think. I start to run. Then I am not the one being chased, but rather it is someone I love. I try to protect her. I can't see who is after her. She is weak, an infant, and she cries for help. And I wake up."

Nick scowled thoughtfully. It was not the sort of dream that vampires had. He seldom really dreamed. Sometimes he had nightmares, but they were usually vivid memories of past experiences. Dreams, as such, were usually the more pleasant memories of a recent victim. "This city, do you recognize it?" "No. I see it clearly, but it is someplace I haven't been."

That was even stranger. "Whom are you bonded with, that could be sending you their thoughts?"

"No one. Urs and I have never been close, not like you and LaCroix. I used to think Piejo could read me like that, but he's been dead two years."

"Piejo?" Nick laughed at the derogatory name.

Vachon grunted. "My nickname for him. Amaru. My twin."

Nick nodded. "Then it must be Amaru's dream."

"Nick, I told you. He's dead."

Nick lay back down, feeling drowsy again. "Dead isn't always dead. Divia was dead. So was Francesca. He is the only one bonded with you, these are not your memories, therefore he must be undead again. G'night."

Vachon lay awake. Amaru, alive? Could it be possible? And why did that excite him? He hated his twin. They had fought for five centuries! They had nothing in common. But, maybe... Vachon forced the thoughts away. Nick had to be wrong. If Amaru had somehow survived the explosion, he would have come after him long before now. Still, if the dreams were Piejo's, then who was in danger?

*****

Tracy emerged from her shower wearing only a towel. She flopped in a chair, tucking her feet up on the cushion. Diggin looked away, feeling his undead heart pick up a beat at her blatant immodesty and youthful innocence. He was supposed to be protecting her! But who would protect her from him? Other than LaCroix, he reminded himself. He knew with a certainty that the ancient would destroy him if anything happened to Tracy, whether or not it was his fault.

Tracy said something. Looking back quickly to see if she expected an answer, Diggin caught a flash of dimples and impish delight. The vixen knew precisely what she was doing to him! Maybe what Diggin needed most was someone to protect him from her?

"Here. Feed. Then go back to bed," Diggin growled.

Tracy accepted the glass, pouting momentarily. "Fat lot of fun you are. What good is immortality, if you're as dull as the dead?"

Diggin drank deeply, straight from the bottle. "If I listen to you a moment longer, I'll be dead when LaCroix finds out. Now be a nice little vampire and leave me alone."

Tracy dropped the towel and put her nightshirt back on. "Oh, all right," she agreed crossly. "I'll be good. We'll just talk, then. Okay?"

Diggin drained the bottle. Maybe he should have brought a few more? He didn't dare move for a while, until the obvious effect she was having on him had a chance to settle down. "Talk?"

She giggled. "Yes, you know, move your teeth and tongue until intelligible conversation spews out? You can talk. I've even heard you be sarcastic before. So, what do you do when you aren't babysitting?"

"Have more fun," Diggin said tersely.

Tracy laughed again. It sounded different this time, though. She seemed amused and not condescending. Diggin was surprised at how much that meant to him. He found himself trying to think of what to say next to make her laugh again.

"Where are you from? How old are you? Are you older than Nick?"

"Baby, I was babysitting for Nick long before your great-grandparents were in diapers," Diggin said.

Her eyes grew round and her mouth made an "O", but no sound came out.

"Nick most likely doesn't even know. Whenever LaCroix needed to get away from him, he hired me to stand guard."

"So he must really trust you. I mean, to leave Nick in your care. I mean, I know he likes me and all, but I know where I stand in this family... which is just a step above the carouche."

"You're wrong, Tracy," Diggin whispered. He fought against the urge to go to her. He fiddled with the empty bottle, still holding it in front of his hard evidence.

"Nope. I'm never wrong. I may not always be right, but I'm never wrong… guess you've heard that one before. Anyway. What did you do to earn the old geezer's respect?"

"Tsk-tsk... such disrespect."

Tracy waited expectantly. She hadn't really thought to involve Diggin in a conversation. She didn't really resent him, just what he represented- that LaCroix didn't trust her. It wasn't really Diggin's fault. "You said you were a pickpocket? Where? And how did you meet LaCroix?"

Diggin looked at the floor awkwardly. He hadn't shared this story with anyone in so many centuries, yet he felt like telling this infant everything. She took so much for granted. LaCroix welcomed her openly, while Diggin had had to earn everything. "In Rome," he began.

Tracy listened, suddenly grasping a sense of Diggin's age. It was as if a wall had suddenly crumpled, and now she felt the tingle of the familiar, almost as strongly as she felt from LaCroix! Diggin was family? Why didn't anyone else seem to know?

"One afternoon I was caught picking the wrong pocket. I was still a boy, trained to steal by the man who fed me. The usual punishment for stealing was to cut off the hand, but the Roman soldier never drew his sword. Instead, he took a whip to me, flayed me within an inch of my miserable life, and demanded to know where I lived. Then, he cut off the hand of the master thief."

"You met LaCroix way back then? When you were both still mortal?" She gasped, awestruck.

Diggin nodded. "He didn't leave me there, though. He commanded that I come with him. He brought me to a brothel, where I served his mistress, Selene."

Tracy had tried before to imagine LaCroix as a mortal, without much success. Now, as Diggin described ancient Rome to her, it all seemed to come to life. LaCroix had very likely saved Diggin's mortal life. But, was he her brother? He seemed different, somehow... it wasn't the same tingle she got when she was around Nick or Tommy.

"You knew about Divia?" he asked softly.

Tracy nodded.

"Well, she had always desired her father's affection, but not like a daughter should. There was something twisted inside her all along. Maybe it was growing up in a brothel, I don't know. She used to delight in getting others in to trouble and being there to watch their punishment, as though she drew strength from their suffering. She was a real charmer. Anyway, when she became immortal, right away she planned to bind LaCroix to her as her child. She started practicing, bringing people across, burying her mistakes. I was her first successful victim. Then, she brought him over. I traveled with them, and although the "older" brother, I was the bastard child and eternal servant. Later, when LaCroix killed her, the first time that is, then we parted."

"So are you stronger than he is then?"

Diggin shook his head. "No, Tracy. We are so close in age, that our ability should be about equal, but LaCroix is different. I think he studied more, practiced more, and mastered our abilities in ways that most never even imagine. He could best me in a match a thousand years ago, and he has continued to grow stronger."

"Why "Diggin"? That isn't your real name, is it?" She covered a yawn, trying to conceal fangs. It was still daylight, and now that her stomach had been fed, her body demanded sleep.

"Don't remember my real name, if I ever had one. As a boy, I was always hungry. Whenever food came my way, I would "Dig In." The name just stuck."

Tracy struggled out of her chair. She stood before him, extending her wrist. "Thanks. Guess that makes you my uncle. It's not so bad to have an uncle watching over me, it's better than a body guard."

Diggin hesitated to put the cuff back on her, but Tracy grabbed it and clamped it on herself. "I'm in enough shit as it is. I don't need you mucking through it, too. Good night."

Then, awkwardly, they crawled into the bed. Tracy curled up at his side, rolling herself up in his arm, their cuffed hands close to her breast. In moments she was asleep. Diggin felt her bottom nestle against him and wondered if he would ever sleep again.

"Diggin?" she whispered drowsily. "I didn't think those togas had pockets?" "Go to sleep, Tracy."

Chapter Fourteen:

Sleep did not return to Nick. He was tired, the sun was still out, and yet, something was nagging at the back of his consciousness. He rubbed absently at his stomach. That wasn't it. He didn't feel ill. He was a little hungry, but that would have to wait. Even if he felt like luring one of the bikers in to satisfy his needs, they were all drunk. Their blood would not sit well with him now.

He rolled to his side and reached out for Vachon. The younger vampire startled at the contact. "You can't sleep, either?" Nick asked.

Vachon grunted. "What's it really like, to have a family?"

"Complicated," Nick said. Then he fell silent and thoughtful. The bond he felt with LaCroix was stronger now than it had been in centuries. Maybe, than it had ever been? Although he had clung to his master as an infant, the relationship then had been built more on fear and respect than affection. He knew he loved LaCroix, as a father, as a master, as a friend. And Tracy was easy to love. So was Urs, although he didn't have a clue why she was behaving so strangely these days. His thoughts drifted back to the one still absent. He had loved her more than all the rest. He adored her, fairly worshipped her, and she had broken his heart.

Nick wiped away a stray tear, unwilling to dwell on that just now, and yet she returned to his thoughts unbidden. Nick had been sensing her very strongly all week. She must have returned to Toronto. That she hadn't come to see him was proof enough that she hadn't yet forgiven him. Perhaps they would never see each other again? Another tear fell.

Vachon reached out tentatively and lifted the tear. He tasted it, savoring the intensity of the passions contained in the one small drop of blood. "Your master was right to keep you protected. I would kill to possess you."

Nick squirmed under the unwarranted adoration. "Knock it off, Vachon."

The Spaniard grinned. With a quick, unexpected maneuver, he rolled over, pinning Nick's arms to either side. Nick bucked beneath him, struggling to toss him off. Vachon laughed, as they rolled into the tent wall. One stake pulled free and a side of the tent fluttered loosely, shrinking the space in their shelter. The canvas touched Nick's arm, scorching him.

Nick cried out, flinching away. Vachon pulled the sleeping bag back up over them, still laughing.

"Nick, you're dangerous. Remind me not to stay the day with you again!"

Nick laughed too, rubbing his injured arm. Vachon took it in his hands and licked at the damaged flesh. "Shall I kiss it and make it feel better?"

Then a solid weight landed on top of the playful vampires. "What the?" they gasped in tandem.

Perry growled menacingly. Vachon shrank back, but Nick reached out towards the carouche.

Perry took Nick's hand in his mouth and bit down, still growling.

"Hey, boy," Nick yelped. "What's up? I'm glad you came, though." Nick reached out to the angry carouche with the other hand and patted him affectionately. Perry continued to growl, still holding Nick's hand in his teeth. Small drops of blood oozed forth.

Vachon gasped, as he tried to pull further from the carouche and bumped into the tent wall again. "That beast is dangerous," he grumbled.

Nick laughed, roughing the dog's fur playfully. "Naw, not to me. He's just happy to see me, aren't you, boy?"

Perry gave up. His charge had lied to him when he'd said last night that he would be right home. Nicholas had been reckless and irresponsible. This canvas structure was inadequate for any vampire, let alone one as susceptible to injury as he was. Perry was very put out with him, and yet, Nicholas greeted him with open arms and a friendly smile. Perry discovered his anger was fading in the warmth of the young vampire's loving welcome. He released the hand and licked at the wounds.

Nick continued to laugh, stroking Perry behind the ears the way he liked. Perry put a foot down firmly on his chest to hold him still while he looked him over. Twin wounds in the neck - he glared at Vachon - and scorched skin on his forearm. And Nick's stomach rumbled on empty. Children! Perry bounded outside. He found the loose tent stake and replaced it, then went to find food. His fur protected him somewhat from the late afternoon sun. He could tolerate more than even the ancient vampire; such was the benefit of the carouche. In ancient times, he'd learned, vampires often kept a carouche or two, just for that reason. It was a survival skill the vampires had either forgotten, or decided they no longer needed. Well, Nicholas needed him. Nicholas was proof enough!

Perry first found a few squirrels to fill himself. Then he found a couple of mortal women, their blood unpolluted by drugs or alcohol, and convinced them to follow him. He led them back to the tent.

"Oh, what a sweet dog," one girl exclaimed.

The other, eyeing Vachon suggestively, licked her lower lip. "Did you train him to find chicks for you?"

Vachon glanced from the mortal visitors to Nick to the carouche. Maybe Perry wasn't so bad, after all? It seemed strange to share the mortals with Nick, who had always been so straight, but the girls were more than willing company. He fed from one, Nick from the other, and they left the girls just a little sleepy. Then, curling up against a warm mortal breast, Vachon was able to find sleep for the remainder of the day.

Perry paced in a small circle. With the women, there was no room to spare in the small canvas shelter. He plopped down on Nick's feet and slept fitfully.

Night finally came. Perry stretched, waking the mortals and vampires as he stepped on them. Vachon suggested that the girls return to sleep, using his power to enforce the command. Nick stretched his arms and ran his fingers through his hair. The dark stubble of beard had returned, and his eyes were clear and spirited. Perry licked at his youthful face.

"Yes, good day to you, too, boy," Nick said. "I need to find that biker we talked with last night...um, Duc's friend? He said something that I didn't catch right away. Remember, he said something about Mickey's uncle? But when I read Mickey Lang's obituary, they didn't mention anything relatives other than a grandmother. Could be nothing, but I'd like to know."

Vachon shrugged. "Sure thing. Let's go."

Nick reached instinctively for his guide dog, but Perry wasn't wearing the harness. Someone must have taken it off Perry last night, and when he had come looking for Nick, he hadn't brought it. Nick felt a moment of panic, like being caught in public without anything on. Vachon simply took his hand and placed it around his elbow.

"Ready, Nick?"

Nick forced a careless shrug. Perry sensed his discomfort. He trotted close to Nick's shin, comforting him with his presence. They found the biker they sought quickly.

"Yeah, this guy said he was Mickey's uncle," the biker explained. "We didn't actually check birth records. I don't even remember his name. But he was a cop."

"A cop!" Nick exclaimed.

The biker shrugged indifferently. "Well, he had a badge. Guess that could have been costume jewelry, too. He was an ugly sonofabitch, and I didn't look too carefully."

"Can you describe him?"

The biker grumbled, rubbing a leather-gloved hand over his beard. "No. He was a guy. Look, I haven't seen him since last year. There wasn't anything about him that stands out in my memory. 'Cept that he blamed Duc for the kid's death."

"Thanks," Nick said sincerely. "And thanks for the stay. There's a couple of girls in there now, mind if they hang out for a while?"

The biker grinned. "Hey, you do all right for a cop. See ya 'round."

Vachon led Nick towards his bike. Perry barked at them. If they thought they could run off and leave him again, they'd have a surprise or two.

"I think your dog's mad about something," Vachon stated.

Nick hunched down on his heels and wrapped his arms around Perry. "What's wrong, boy?"

A growl rumbled deeply in his chest. He concentrated on their bond, trying to tell Nick the answer.

"Are you mad because I didn't come home last night? Geesh, you're getting as mean as LaCroix."

Perry barked. Young upstart! He would not be so insulted. "Okay, mean isn't the right word. Overbearing? I'm sorry, I did tell you I'd be home last night. Things changed. And now, I need a ride from Vachon. You didn't bring your harness, how else am I to travel?"

Nick had a point, Perry conceded.

"Now I want to go to the precinct. You can meet me there, and then we'll call a cab and go home together, okay?"

Perry licked Nick's chin tentatively. That would be acceptable. He glared at the Spanish child meaningfully, then with a glance in either direction, Perry lifted into the night sky.

Nick wrapped his arms around Vachon, smiling brightly as the bike came to life. "Do you want to go to the cabin this weekend?" he asked.

"Maybe," Vachon hedged. Although the wind sucked his words, he knew Nick could hear him. "Don't know if Tracy wants me along."

"Yeah, well. I have a feeling we need to bring the girls. They both have a bee up their butt about something."

Vachon laughed. "Got that right. So how do we fix it?"

"Admit to being wrong, apologize, bring them flowers and make nice."

"But what did I do wrong?"

"Haven't a clue. That doesn't matter, anyway. It'll be something else the next time. Just apologize."

Vachon sighed. "Guess you're right. Thanks, Knight."

*****

Tracy dressed comfortably in faded blue jeans and a short-sleeved white sweatshirt. The evenings were still cool this spring, although she had felt the day's humidity press around her while she slept. Then she and Diggin joined Cousin Tommy for a light meal before facing the inevitable.

"My home is your home, dear cousin," Constantine remarked, as he hugged her affectionately.

"Thanks," she said. "For everything. Janette's great, really. A little different… a lot different, actually. I've never known anyone quite like her. But, she's nice."

Constantine chuckled. Tracy had a gift for speech that none of his male heirs had ever displayed. "Do come again," he said.

Tracy's mouth dropped open and she nearly spilled her meal. Diggin and Constantine followed her gaze. Descending the stairs with her usual queenly grace was a decidedly different looking Janette. She too was dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled simply into a ponytail. She eyed them coolly from the middle of the stairs before joining them at the bottom.

"Janette, you look great, I mean, not that you don't always, although I don't know how you always look, I mean, not that your old. Ahhhg! Let me start over," Tracy babbled, giggling awkwardly. "Good evening! Are you ready to come home with me?"

"Not quite," Janette responded. She accepted a glass from her host before settling onto a chair. She tucked her feet up under her comfortably.

Tracy yanked her bodyguard over to a couch and gave him a shove, then sat on his lap. When Diggin opened his mouth to say something, Tracy kissed it. "Shut up, Diggin," she said. "I'm busy."

Janette hid a smile behind a hand. She wondered how LaCroix was faring, raising such a headstrong, irreverent daughter. He must find the young infant amusing, or he would never put up with her. "We talked a lot about you and me last night," Janette said. "It was wonderful to get to know you, but before I face them again, I need to know more about what's been going on."

Tracy shrugged. It had been so nice to have a whole evening when Nick was not a part of the conversation, but she'd known it wouldn't last. "Constantine told you Nick is blind?"

Janette fidgeted with her glass, running a forefinger along the edge and making it hum softly. "Yes. But how can this be? Why does he not heal?"

Tracy explained everything then to the best of her ability, how it started with him vomiting whenever he felt strong emotions.

"That often?" Janette interrupted.

They shared a knowing smile. "Afraid so," Tracy said. "Then, when he was thrown into the lake, and the sun blinded him, he never healed. Nat thinks that when the ulcer in his stomach heals and he can feed and keep it down, then his eyes will heal, but I think Nick fears this is permanent."

"And how is LaCroix?"

"Part of him is really happy right now. Not that Nick's sick, I'm sure, but that Nick is close to him."

"He what!" Janette stared at her, disbelieving her ears.

"They've been really close lately. I mean, I don't know what they were like for the last couple hundred years, but I've heard that they didn't always get along."

Janette nodded, laughing at the understatement. "Nichola tried to kill him on more than one occasion and he was always running away from him."

"Well, Nick's been living with LaCroix since before he lost his eyesight. And he drinks from LaCroix more than any other. Part of that is the priest's influence, because he won't let LaCroix bully him any more."

"The priest!" Janette wondered if this young one was just stringing her along now with such wild tales. She interrogated Tracy further, until she knew all about the family counseling sessions. "I simply must attend one of those before I return to Buffalo," she said.

"Yeah, well, they're not that much fun, really."

Janette stood then. "I think I'm ready now. Let us depart."

"Finally," Diggin muttered. He wanted a raise. If LaCroix balked, he could just find a new bodyguard.

Shortly the three vampires flew through the skylight, bursting in to LaCroix's living room with laughter.

"Hi, dad!" Tracy called.

LaCroix whipped around angrily, determined to discipline this willful child at once. Then, seeing Janette, he froze. He couldn't even speak. She had been gone for so long; she had been dead to him when she'd been a mortal, and now... now she was back! A thousand years he had known this one!

Janette smiled, a pretty pout on her lips. "Hello, Grandpapa."

He growled. "I am no one's grandfather, and don't you ever forget that!"

Janette put her arms around his neck and traced a finger over his earlobe. "You most certainly are the father of my father. What else does that make you? And don't get all huffy with me. I know you're glad to see me."

Tracy stared, astonished, as she saw a dimple flash briefly in her master's chiseled façade of stone. He continued to grumble, but she sensed it wasn't sincere. "So, have you seen Nicholas yet?"

Janette shook her head. "I am not yet ready."

LaCroix said not a word, but his displeasure was evident.

"I will, LaCroix. Soon. But not tonight."

LaCroix turned on Diggin next, looking for a vent for his frustration. "This, running all over Toronto, is your idea of protecting my daughter?"

He shrugged indifferently. "If you leave me with this one again, I'll need more money. She's incorrigible."

"I know," LaCroix agreed, unlocking the handcuffs. He settled into his favorite chair and took up a book. Tonight was going to be a long one, and it had just begun. Tracy had defied him repeatedly. She deserved to be punished, and yet, with his long lost daughter returned, for Janette would always be as a daughter to him, he felt only like celebrating. Curious, indeed.

The door to his suite opened and Natalie stepped out ready for work. "Did I hear -" she stopped short when her gaze fell on the slim gorgeous figure clad in blue jeans. "Janette."

"Oui. Good to see you again, Natalie."

Natalie doubted that. The last time she had seen Janette, she was mortal, wounded, and wanted for murder. Natalie had treated her injuries. The following evening, Janette was gone, Nick was grieving, and the two men who'd assaulted Janette were dead from a vampire's bite. Natalie had quickly disguised the telltale wounds, slashing them through with a knife and destroying evidence. Part of her wished she'd measured the distance between the wounds first. Part of her was afraid of her reaction if the information implicated Nick.

"Why are you back?" she asked tersely.

Janette lifted her chin, looking down her nose at the coroner before shrugging indifferently. "I see you've moved up to bigger game, Natalie. Did you tire of waiting for Nicholas to bring you across?"

Natalie clamped her mouth. This vampire had consistently undermined her work with Nicholas, setting him back, giving him doubts, feeding his lust for vampire sex and blood... there was nothing she really wanted to say to her.

"Let me see now," Janette said sweetly. Natalie sensed danger. She looked around for LaCroix, but he was talking to Diggin and Tracy.

"If I am now Nick's child, and Nick is LaCroix's, and you are LaCroix's... ah, plaything, then, that must make you my almost step-grandmama?"

Child? Nick's child! He had brought her back across! Natalie felt a slow burn. How could he do such a thing, when Janette had achieved what he had sought so desperately? Grandmama!

Janette reached out quickly and pulled a single hair from Natalie's head. She hadn't expected it and shrank back with a tiny gasp.

"Look! A gray hair," Janette explained.

LaCroix looked up. "Enough, Janette. Behave yourself."

She shrugged and turned away, effectively dismissing her. Natalie turned sharply to conceal her tears. "I have work. Good night," she said, and left abruptly.

Janette settled on the couch and told LaCroix about the party they planned before she departed as well. Then Tracy came to him and knelt at his feet.

"Master?" she whispered. "I'm sorry I've been so emotional lately. And I'm very sorry for defying you. But, I really should go in to work tonight. If I finish a few cases, I could take a sabbatical, an unpaid vacation? Maybe, while Nick's away at his school, you and I could spend some time together and work this out?"

LaCroix did not respond immediately, but he remained more relaxed than she could ever remember. Was it just Janette's return? Nick apparently hadn't even come home last night - he could be in big trouble, but LaCroix did not seem worried. She wondered if she would ever understand him.

"Yes, while Nicholas is away, it would be an opportune time to extend your training. We will go alone. Just the two of us."

Tracy nodded meekly. She loved LaCroix and wanted his undivided attention, but this vacation was beginning to sound just a little dull. She clamped her thoughts, hoping she'd stopped them before LaCroix caught their gist.

"You may go tonight," LaCroix said magnanimously. "But Diggin will keep an eye on your moods and interfere should you put yourself in danger. And you will take this sabbatical. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

The Roman's hand clamped around her throat then, not bruising, but firm and intimidating. "And I will tolerate no further misbehavior, regardless of how it affects Nicholas."

Tracy nodded, unable to speak.

He loosed his fingers then and placed a paternal kiss upon her head. "Good night, my daughter."

Tracy hurried from his suite. She drained an entire bottle in the kitchen, still feeling a little shaky from the meeting. Then she saw Diggin slouched in the easy chair. Grinning evilly, she went over and plopped a flirtatious kiss against his face. "Come on, Fido. I'm going to work and the boss wants you to keep watch. Ready?"

Diggin sputtered indignantly. If she hadn't known better, she would have mistaken that for a blush. Diggin didn't even like her; she'd have to be crazy to think he had a crush on her. She glanced back at him surreptitiously. His unrelenting mask was back in place. She must have been mistaken.

The little black Jag purred contentedly as she drove in to work. Strange how that had all worked out. Tammisue was a rookie cop now; her brother's illicit activities had ceased, and Tracy was the owner of a wonderful little piece of machinery! She parked it at the precinct, caressing it proudly, before flipping the doorlocks.

Inside, she felt the vampire presence immediately. She glanced at her desk, then smiled at Nick and Vachon. She hurried over to them. "Hi, guys!"

Vachon's heart skipped at her open smile. He'd missed her! Nick waved in her direction.

"Hi, baby. I found something about case."

Tracy slipped into her chair, with Vachon perched on her desk on one side and Nick on the other. This is the way work should be, she thought with amusement. "Uh, what case, Nick? Did you come back to work?"

Nick ignored the jibe. "There might be a connection. Michael Lang was a rookie Rode Hawg, who died just over a year ago. Police reports list it as accidental, and the obits said his only surviving relative was a grandmother, yet the Rode Hawgs said a man claiming to be his uncle came by and stirred up trouble, blaming them for the boy's death."

"Sounds like motive to me," Tracy agreed. "Don't suppose they gave you a name? A description?" Nick shook his head at both questions.

"Well, that still leaves us without a lead, then," she sighed.

"They thought the uncle was a cop," Nick mentioned.

Tracy shrugged. "So? We still can't investigate every officer in the city without more than that."

Vachon got to his feet. "I need to be going. It's nice seeing you again, Tracy. Wanna go to the cabin this weekend?"

Tracy shook her head. "This weekend's out." At Vachon's wounded look, she quickly continued. "But maybe next weekend? I'd like that."

The dark Spaniard clapped Nick on the shoulder then departed, his rolling gate just a little more animated. It was a good night so far.

Tracy returned to the files on her desk. She wondered where Ledford was, but didn't bother to ask. Any moment spent away from him was a moment to treasure. "So, what are you waiting for?" she asked her brother.

Nick shrugged. He got off her desk and felt his way around the edge towards his. "Just waiting for Perry. Then I'll call a cab."

She forgot about him then, as she started filling in the reports on the Lister case. She didn't notice when Nick got up and started to meander through the bullpen.

Schultz jumped up from her post and came to Nick's side. "Nice to see you back, Detective. Place just hasn't been the same without you."

Nick accepted the arm she offered. He should know his way around here with his eyes closed, but there were always chairs pushed away from desks, trashcans that got bumped, papers or coats in the way. He smelled something though, and wanted to find it. He gestured in the direction and let Schultz assist him. He chatted with her about small talk, as he drew nearer the faint stench.

Schultz had broken off her engagement, her brother's oldest just graduated from high school, and her sister's baby had started to walk. Nick nodded at the mundane mortal milestones. Once he had yearned to be a part of them. Now, he only yearned to see again.

The stench grew stronger. Nick made a face, feeling his stomach lurch at the noxious odor. "Who's desk is this?" he asked.

"No one's, Nick. It used to be Mac's before he retired, but now it's just empty. Why?"

Nick released her arm and felt the desk. It was clear of paper and desk supplies, but a lightweight jacket was tossed over it. Nick snatched the jacket. "Who's!" he demanded, keeping his voice low.

Schultz startled at the tone in his voice. "Detective? I - I think it's Detective Durham's. He was here earlier; he must have left it. Why?"

Tracy had heard the undercurrent in Nick's voice. She came over, trying not to arouse any more suspicion than Nick already had. "What's up?" she asked.

Nick shook the jacket in her direction. "What do you smell?"

Tracy stepped back, crinkling her nose. "Skunk."

The smell was faint, almost disguised by eucalyptus oil and fabric softener. Schultz took the jacket and sniffed. "You're right!"

"Tracy, find him. Check out his car, and his alibi. I'll bet the ranch he doesn't have one."

Then the doors to the bullpen burst open and Perry came bounding in, followed by a couple of uniformed officers intent on capturing him. Perry came straight for Nick, then turned and bared his teeth at the mortals.

"Detective Knight? He's your dog? Sorry, but he didn't have a collar or leash or rabies tags."

Nick gave them an embarrassed smile. "You got me. Sorry, but it's at home. Will you call me a cab?"

The officers nodded. "Sure thing, Detective."

Reese came out of his office then. "Nick! Good to see you! But, why are you here?"

"Hi, Captain. I just came to see if they got that water cooler fixed. Didn't think you could keep the place running without me, but I guess I was wrong." Tracy slipped back to her desk to dig into Drummond's background, and Schultz returned to work. Reese walked Nick out to the curb where he waited with him. Nick almost sighed when he heard the cab approach. He missed his old life.

Chapter fifteen-adult: (Readers may skip this Chapter and proceed straight to Chapter sixteen)

Vachon mounted his bike and revved the engine. He loved the feel of it rumbling and vibrating between his legs, a symbol of power and freedom. He was tired and a little grubby feeling; maybe he'd swing by the church and clean up a bit. And maybe later he and Tracy could make up. It was lonely without her, although Nick had more than met his needs today. Vachon felt warm again just thinking about him.

This new Nick was really something. He was glad that their paths had crossed. It wasn't just Nick's sweet flavor, or the intensity he brought to everything he did. It wasn't his boyish good looks or the complexity of his emotions. Vachon couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Nick Knight was wonderfully unique.

He pulled the bike right inside the dilapidated foyer of the abandoned church and killed the engine. Walking stiffly, he climbed the stairs to his apartment. He wasn't used to sleeping on the ground and camping out anymore. As a young conquistador, he'd slept on the hard packed earth as a matter of habit, but being a vampire had made him sensitive. Strong as he was, his skin demanded only soft fabrics of natural fibers, and he treasured his new waterbed mattress.

Vachon stripped off his clothes on the way to the shower, leaving a trail through his apartment. He quirked a grin, thinking how Urs would clean up for him. She would cluck at him, and admonish him for his slovenliness, but secretly, he suspected she enjoyed the added work. He stood beneath the pelting water, washing away layers of grime and arched his back letting the water massage his sore muscles. It was almost sensual. If only he'd had some one to share the shower with. He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, slinging it low around his hips. His stomach nudged him. It was time to feed. With eyes half closed, he staggered towards the refrigerator.

A cold wind blew in, fluttering whatever papers and clutter still ornamented his place. The hair at the back of his neck tingled a clear warning. Vachon took a step back. LaCroix loomed before him and the ancient was not happy.

"Uh, hello, LaCroix," Vachon began, wondering if there could be a peaceful resolution. "Nick isn't here. He's at the precinct."

"I am not looking for Nicholas now," the ancient said, his voice deceptively calm.

Vachon swallowed. His undead heart beat twice in quick succession. His instincts told him he was in real danger and his instincts had never lied before. He glanced past the ancient towards his bedroom. Maybe LaCroix would at least let him dress before killing him?

"If you'll excuse me," Vachon began, taking a hesitant step forward.

"No." LaCroix's command chilled him.

Vachon dared a glance at the ancient's face. LaCroix's jaw was firm, his mouth a grim line, but the most frightening feature were the red eyes of a fully enraged beast. Vachon retreated until he was against the refrigerator. Whom could he call for help? No vampire in his right mind would join him against the ancient, except possibly Nick. And Vachon didn't want Nick's help tonight. Not when Nick was still so weak. He just couldn't do that to him. Vachon closed his mind, shutting himself off from all others. If he died tonight, would any of them even know what happened? Would he?

"What's wrong?" he stuttered. "Why are you here?"

"You went to pick up Nicholas last night."

"Yes..."

"And you did not bring him home."

"Ah, right. We went for a ride."

"You and he slept in a tent today."

Vachon nodded fearfully.

"My son, who is weak and dependent, slept under the flimsy protection of a canvas tent, and I had no idea where he was. You didn't even take his dog with you. That, my child, is unforgivably irresponsible."

"But he's fine," Vachon defended weakly. "He had a great time. He didn't even puke at all. Not once. And he'll be home shortly."

LaCroix drew nearer, somehow surrounding Vachon with his presence. His fangs were fully exposed. Vachon felt a warmth even as fear threatened to make him sick, just at the sight of him. LaCroix's strength and power were only slightly more arousing than his handsome features. But LaCroix did not take his blood. Instead the ancient unbuckled his belt. Vachon felt his groin tighten, unsure of the ancient's intentions.

"You have chosen to join my family, at least for a time. And so you shall be treated as such. I am master. You are nothing. You will not think, act, or feed without my knowledge. Is that understood?"

Vachon nodded vigorously. Anything to save his skin. He could always run later. He was good at running. He'd had centuries of practice.

LaCroix pulled his belt from the loops and folded it in half, caressing the leather with nickel-plated designs. Then he grabbed Vachon's towel and yanked it clear. Vachon's hands instinctively went to cover his arousal. LaCroix smiled at it sardonically.

"For me?" he inquired.

Vachon didn't dare to answer.

LaCroix grabbed his arm and shoved him. Vachon tripped over a chair, falling to the floor. LaCroix brought the belt down on him, striking his hip and thigh. Vachon yelped, struggling to get away, but the ancient was too quick. As if he could read Vachon's mind, the ancient knew his actions before he moved and countered them. Vachon rolled to his stomach and covered his head with his arms. There was no escape. At least he'd protect what he could.

The belt struck him viciously, again and again, bruising and blistering tender flesh. Tears flowed freely from the young Spaniard, but he clenched his teeth, unwilling to cry for help. No one must come to his aid. Urs and Tracy would only end up getting hurt themselves. Maybe he would die tonight. At least that would end the beating.

The tears wouldn't come any more. He was too weak to cry. He felt unconsciousness dance just out of reach. It couldn’t be long now. He felt a cold stickiness run down his back and knew that the belt drew blood. He still wasn't even sure what had been his crime. Was LaCroix so possessive of Nick, that he begrudged the blood he and Nick had shared? What had been so wrong about sleeping in a tent? The Rode Hawgs were a harmless gang, as well. Nick had never been in any real danger.

The belt struck several more harsh blows. Vachon screamed. It escaped him. He hadn't meant to, but he could no longer stop himself. He screamed again.

Then the beating stopped. He didn't move, as he still sensed the ancient above him. Vachon doubted he had the strength. Someone would have to feed him or he would just stay here for an eternity.

Something touched him. Vachon flinched and struggled to move, but LaCroix struck him hard. Vachon stopped, submissive to the ancient's whim.

He felt the touch of a tongue. LaCroix lapped at the blood he'd spilled. Vachon bit through his lip to stifle a cry. He remained submissive, wondering at the ancient's next move. The tongue of a vampire had a healing quality; although LaCroix's lapping was more sensual than medicinal, Vachon felt the blood cease to flow.

Then LaCroix was on top of him. His arms were on either side, and his lips whispered in Vachon's ears. He screamed again as LaCroix rammed inside of him. "I have absolute power," the master declared. "I own you. I decide if you live or die. I decide what you'll do and with whom. Submit to me!"

Vachon could have laughed if he wasn't so miserable. At the moment, he was being pretty submissive. LaCroix had beat the crap out of him. Even with blood, he didn't think he'd sit down for weeks.

LaCroix continued to take him. He was brutal, and yet, it was also erotic. Vachon felt his own arousal return. He yearned to move to a more comfortable position, but he didn't dare. Then the ancient tore into his throat and sucked his blood from him just as he spilled his seed into him. LaCroix withdrew from his neck and lay over him, nearly crushing him with his weight.

"Call me "master"," the ancient demanded.

"Yes, master," Vachon whispered at once.

"Swear you will obey me in all things!"

"I swear!"

"Swear you will protect my children's lives with your own, if need be!"

"I swear," Vachon gasped.

"Then, young Spaniard," LaCroix said, rising off of him. "I will accept you into the family and extend my protection around you."

Vachon still did not move. He hurt too much. He felt like he'd just endured some barbaric rite of initiation, though, and his pride hurt more than any thing else. If LaCroix had wanted his blood, he could have had it at any time. If he had wanted intimacy, he could have had that, too. Vachon pushed up with his arms, half expecting to be struck down again. When LaCroix did nothing, Vachon got to his knees.

He turned and stared at the ancient, his dark eyes filled with emotion. LaCroix was still mostly dressed, only his flagging arousal lay exposed against the open fly. Vachon's arousal was still evident. He would submit to the ancient, as it was the only way to save his skin, but he would submit in his own way. Tentatively, he approached the master. He stroked the hard chest through the black silk shirt, brushing the nipples. His cool, slender fingers slipped between the buttons and freed them, all the while staring at the ancient's face.

LaCroix's expression was hard and controlled, yet Vachon sensed the ancient was mildly amused.

"May I, Master?" he asked, speaking around his own sharp fangs.

LaCroix's nod was almost imperceptible but it was all the encouragement Vachon needed. The silk shirt was removed, and Vachon pressed his lips against the smooth, hairless chest, nipping softly. LaCroix leaned back on his elbows and watched the Spaniard seduce him.

Vachon removed his pants and shoes as well, then kissed every inch of him. Although LaCroix had thoroughly enjoyed his earlier coupling as he dominated this errant youngster, he was quickly becoming painfully hard again. When at last he roared with impatience, the Spaniard took the submissive position, offering willingly what LaCroix had taken by force before. This time, he took Vachon's arousal in his firm grip, and gave the Spaniard release as well. When they exchanged the blood kiss, they both exploded in spasms of pleasure.

LaCroix tasted the Spaniard and all that he was... he tasted the earth in him, and the woods and all of nature. It was a different taste than the Old World vampires that he knew so well, but it was not unpleasant. He tasted Vachon's pain and humiliation, and that the Spaniard's submission was honest, not merely a lie told in the interest of self-preservation. But there was a small, dark corner of the Spaniard that was concealed. LaCroix bit harder, sucking more from the young vampire than was safe or necessary.

The dark corner was that part of him that belonged to his twin. He was not purposefully withholding himself. LaCroix suspected Vachon wasn't even aware of it. LaCroix pulled his fangs from him and licked at the wounds until they closed. Then he bared his throat, offering his ancient and healing blood to him.

Vachon's bite was as sensual as everything else about him. LaCroix hadn't realized just how passionate he was. He almost rivaled his son. They did have much in common, he acknowledged, even as Vachon suckled at his throat. Both were soldiers from medieval Europe, brought up in the culture of the Catholic Church, but Vachon's life had been very different from Nicholas's. LaCroix had caught only glimpses through the blood kiss. If they repeated the kiss often, he would eventually come to know the Spaniard almost as well as he knew himself. Vachon's father had been a wealthy nobleman, but he had never claimed him. Vachon was a bastard.

LaCroix pulled away from him then. Vachon hesitantly returned to his throat, only to lap at the small wounds, the polite gesture that in effect thanked the vampire for the intimacy shared. He wondered at this one, to be so open and sharing after the vicious beating. He had just learned through the blood that Vachon had seldom been treated so harshly, and not since he'd been a mortal child.

"Would you care to join me in a shower?" Vachon asked, looking at him sleepily, his long, luscious lashes half concealing the dark, fathomless eyes.

LaCroix considered it only briefly before agreeing. They lathered up each other and exchanged blood once more, before LaCroix was satisfied that his purpose had been achieved. Vachon's bruises were mostly healed, although he would suffer soreness for a few days. Now, whenever Vachon saw him, he would remember the pain of the beating with a vampire's perfect recall. He would also remember the passion they had shared. It was a lethal combination LaCroix had discovered over the years that had worked on everyone with the possible exception of Nicholas. Before, Vachon had feared him for his power. Now, Vachon understood the depth and cruelty of that power.

LaCroix dressed then and prepared to leave. He looked up, a little surprised, when Vachon stood before him, still completely naked. The Spaniard had become immortal a good ten years younger than his son. His hips and chest were still narrow with the build of a boy, although the dark chest hair narrowed to a thin line down his abdomen that spread out over his groin, which was wonderfully that of a man. He was sensual, exquisite, even beautiful. LaCroix felt a tightness again, although he was well sated. He eyed the Spaniard curiously.

"Master," Vachon began.

He was pleased that this one had learned so quickly.

"I do understand English very well, and Spanish of course. Even a little Latin. A simple "don't do that ever again" would have been sufficient, without nearly killing me."

LaCroix resisted the urge to laugh. "But, my child. This was so much more... satisfying. Good night."

Then he flew away, before the young seducer could manipulate him into another affaire d'amour.

Vachon stared at the spot LaCroix had just vacated as he rubbed at his still sore muscles and newly healed flesh. He had greater sympathy for Nick, now. He'd survived 800 years with such a master. Vachon was glad he was an orphan.

Chapter sixteen:

Tracy grinned all the way home. She'd found the link between Bill Drummand and Mickey Lang. Lang's mother was Elisa Drummand, Bill's sister. She'd never married the boy's absentee father although she'd given him his name. Bill had treated Mickey like a son. When Mickey died, Bill went a little crazy. It became his vendetta to harass all motorcyclists, as though they had a hand in Mickey's death. When Tracy confronted Bill, he had crumpled and confessed to everything. Reese had been impressed. Then, she told Reese proudly that Nick had solved it. She couldn't wait to tell her brother everything.

But first she had to find Vachon. He'd looked so hurt... so he'd been a jerk space cadet lately. She'd hurt him, and she needed to explain. Besides, she needed his help. Someone needed to keep Nick busy and out of the way until all was ready for their party, and Vachon was the likeliest candidate.

Vachon was at his church, which surprised her. She'd expected to find him at the Raven with his band. He answered the door, but he seemed distant, unlike the eager puppy she'd met at in the bullpen earlier. "Hi, Javier?"

He stepped back from the door and let her enter. He had none of his usual grace; his motions seemed stiff.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. How are you," he said. Tracy knew a stall when she heard one; she'd done it enough herself.

Briefly, she told him about the party for Nick. Vachon objected at first. "Nick doesn't like parties, especially when he's the guest of honor. That "end of the school year" party you and Nat threw for him a few weeks ago was enough, don't you think?"

Tracy nodded. "Probably. But this is different. This is vampires only, except for Nat, and we have a special guest. Someone he will really want to meet. It's a going away party, to cheer him up before he leaves for Montreal."

Vachon shrugged. He would miss Nick. Maybe, he'd travel to Montreal then, too? Anywhere besides Toronto would be nice. "Do you think the general will really let Nick go?"

"Yes, I do. He's promised to take me somewhere alone then. Guess he feels he's not been diligent in my training."

That was a relief. Vachon forced a smile. "So, what can I do for you?"

"You need to keep Nick busy tomorrow night until midnight. And, he needs to come dressed up nice. We've rented a private club, "Las Chiquita's" out on the freeway. Lots of Latin music and dancing. You'll be there, won't you?"

Vachon gazed at the blue-eyed bombshell and was powerless to deny her. "I'll come," he said. Even LaCroix was not enough of a threat to keep him away from her.

Tracy pecked his cheek and flew from the church to return home.

*****

Nick slouched in the back of the limo. No one would share blood with him. It had begun as a lousy night, and hadn't improved from there. He'd showered, shaved, and then the women contrived to get him out of their way. He insisted that they could leave him alone, but LaCroix had overridden his wishes.

"You will stay with Vachon," the ancient had said firmly. Before Nick could object too strenuously, LaCroix had added a disclaimer to clench Nick's compliance. "I believe the young Spaniard had something about which he wished to speak with you, something about a bug problem?"

Nick had smiled, recalling Vachon's nickname for his twin. Still, he had felt abandoned. He'd sensed Tracy's excitement and even Nat seemed keyed up about something, but he had not been invited. There was a presence in the apartment, a faint scent of perfume so familiar that Nick would have known it anywhere. She had been here. His one true love, his heart and soul, and she had obviously not wanted to see him. Nick blinked quickly, clenching his teeth and allowing anger to replace the agony. Anger was easier to deal with.

Now he turned away from LaCroix, facing the darkened window although the sites of the city were still forbidden to him. Perry laid his head on Nick's knee, his tail thumping the floor of the limo softly. Nick touched the soft fur behind the ears. This whole thing would be unbearable without the carouche, he realized forlornly.

"Is something the matter, Nicholas?" LaCroix sensed his son's turbulent emotions. That in itself was not unusual, but since his illness it was no longer wise to ignore. LaCroix had discovered the paradox in himself, that although he had little patience for his son's mercurial moods, that was precisely what he cherished most about him.

Nick shrugged. "Nothing."

LaCroix smiled softly. Nicholas had always been a very bad liar. "Are you upset with Vachon about something?"

"No."

"Fine. I shall be occupied until midnight. Vachon will bring you back then."

The limo stopped. Nick threw open the door, grabbing for Perry's harness. He stomped off toward the church without comment. LaCroix watched him until he was safely inside. Part of him was tempted to tell Nicholas all, rather than see him suffer so, but Janette would be angry. And she might still change her mind. No, better to allow him to sulk a few hours than to raise false hopes. He gave the driver his destination and turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Vachon met him just inside the church. The Spaniard seemed keyed up about something. "I thought we'd go for a ride," he said breathlessly.

Perry growled softly.

"In my van," Vachon added quickly.

Nick shrugged. "Whatever."

Vachon didn't make small talk as they drove. Something was definitely bugging Nick tonight. He wanted to talk to him, but not in this mood.

He stopped at the marina. Nick and Perry got out and followed him, not even asking what they were doing here. At the pier, Vachon took Nick's arm. "Fly with me," he said.

They flew out over the harbor, landing on a swaying deck. Nick guessed they were on a boat, although it didn't seem like the same one they had been on before. This felt bigger. The swaying wasn't as pronounced, as though the boat itself was much heavier. The odor of gas was still too faint for a motorboat.

Vachon seemed to have found his tongue, finally, for he was jabbering on about the boat. Nick was only half listening. He heard "twenty-six foot sloop, bigger than a catamaran, solid oak something, multi-hulled, double sails, jib boom," and an assortment of other meaningless words.

Finally, the Spaniard seemed to stop for air. "So? What do you think?"

Nick gripped the harness more firmly as the lake swelled and rocked him off balance. He sighed. "Can we sit down somewhere?"

"Oh, yeah, sure! This boat has several chaise lounges on the upper deck, but those are more for the ladies. I like to sit at the tiller myself. That's where I'd sit when we're out, anyway. You could learn to handle the jib sail for now. That's done more by feel than sight. But, let's go below. I want to show you the cabin."

Nick let Vachon guide him down the narrow stairs. They walked through a kitchen-dining area, with Vachon giving him a thorough guided tour before stepping into a bedroom. Vachon led him to the master bed. Nick stretched out, folding his arms behind his head, but Vachon perched on the edge of the mattress, almost rivaling Tracy for his level of excitement.

"So, what do you think?" Vachon asked again.

Nick's forehead puckered. About what? He tried to recall what Vachon had been saying, but as he hadn't been paying attention, his near perfect memory failed him. He recalled that bit about being blind wouldn't stop him from trimming the jib. "About the boat? You want me to go sailing with you?"

"No, Nick," Vachon said. His voice sounded tight. "I want you to buy it with me."

Nick was silent. He was sure he had missed something important.

"Nick, I have enough money for half the down payment, and I can just afford my half of the monthly installments. I thought about asking Tracy to buy it with me, but, well, I'd rather sail with you."

"Go on," Nick said, when Vachon stopped.

"It will sleep eight, but really only four will sleep comfortably. Once in a while, I thought we'd bring the girls out here for a weekend or something. But, most of the time, I just imagine you and me and the sea. You could use a little get-away, don't you think? And, I want to see you, but, I'd rather not deal with LaCroix any more than necessary."

Nick considered it seriously for the first time. He'd been sailing before, but not since the Mayflower. That had been cramped, smelly, and damp, a pure torture, surrounded by religious zealots on one side, and devil-may-care adventurers on the other, with the harsh life of the sea in a seventeenth century vessel. This boat was so different.

"Vachon, show me the boat again, please?" he whispered.

Vachon grinned. "Sure thing!" He led Nick all over then, letting him stop and touch everything from the varnished cherry cabinets to the teak trim and fiberglass keel. He showed him the tiny refrigerator and the crystal glasses secured with padding and elastic straps to protect them on rougher waters. Nick kept imagining himself and Vachon and Lake Ontario. Who knows? If they worked well enough as a team, they might even venture out onto the ocean some day.

"Can we take her out now?" Nick asked eagerly. "For a trial spin?"

Vachon groaned softly. "I wish. We might tomorrow, if you still want to go then."

"Why? What's wrong with tonight?"

Vachon was tempted to spoil Tracy's surprise. "I have to meet Tracy at midnight. You know things have been tense between us for a few weeks. And LaCroix wants you then."

Nick snorted. He didn't give a damn about LaCroix's wants right now, but he wouldn't stand between Vachon and Tracy. "It's no big deal," he lied, shrugging his shoulders.

"We need a name for her," Vachon said, changing the subject.

For the next hour they brainstormed, tossing out both the silly and the serious. Vachon poured them a toast, and the evening turned playful. Then Nick discovered in Vachon's blood his recent encounter with LaCroix. Anger swelled, coloring his own blood offering.

"Nick, it's okay," Vachon soothed.

"No, it's not! He has no right to treat you like that! He wouldn't have, either, except that I dare to call you 'friend'! That bastard!"

Vachon clamped a hand over Nick's mouth. His eyes grew wide and a sensuous smile graced his lips. "You call me 'friend'?"

"Javier, this is serious." "I know." He draped an arm over Nick's shoulder. "I would have called us more than friends."

Nick sighed. Vachon just didn't understand.

"Nick," Vachon said. "I can fight my own battles. And this is one neither of us can win. In a way, it was nice."

"Being beaten to a pulp?"

"No." Vachon tightened his arm around Nick's neck in a gesture of camaraderie. "It was nice in that he included me in his family. I've never had one. Face it, if it weren't for my relationship with you and Tracy, he would have just killed me years ago."

Nick was only partly appeased. Then Vachon started buzzing. His wristwatch, his beeper, and his cellphone, all three went off in syncopated alarms. He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Urs didn’t want me to forget my "date" with Tracy tonight. She doesn't trust my memory."

Nick laughed. "Women."

Vachon flew him back to dry land, then drove out on the freeway. Nick slumped down on the seat. The van was rough; the fumes of gas and carbon dioxide made him faintly ill. Perry crawled up half in his lap to nudge the button that opened the window. "Thanks," Nick muttered, breathing a little easier.

"Sorry, Knight," Vachon said. "It was either the boat or a new car."

"Vachon, I said you could use my Caddy."

The Spaniard didn't respond. The van slowed, pulling up alongside the front door of the nightclub. The band was audible through the closed doors, the deep bass pulsing rhythmically. Nick almost smiled. The band was unfamiliar, but the music was some of his favorites. Passionate, raw, erotic… but it reminded him of her. The smile faded before it fully bloomed.

Vachon opened his door. Nick and Perry followed him inside.

Tracy threw herself at Vachon. "You came! I'm so glad you made it!" Her arms wrapped around his neck and he was forced to take several back steps to regain his balance. Vachon chuckled, whispering loving endearments in her ear.

Nick left them, following a scent to find the bar. The bartender poured a beverage and passed it to him. "Good ev'nin', Nick."

"Patrick? What are you doing here?" Nick grew uneasy. Patrick worked at the Raven. He reached out with his extra senses and discovered that the lounge was filled with vampires. He heard Alma and Urs, Beverly, Rita, Logan, Diggin, and many more. Then there was LaCroix. Nick frowned.

"Private party," Patrick explained. "I volunteered to work. It seemed easier than asking Alma and being bummed if she turned me down."

The vampiress in question slunk up to the bar with a half smile. "Good evening, Patrick," she purred.

"If you'll excuse me," Nick muttered. He wasn't in the mood to eavesdrop on anyone's love life. He squared his shoulders and braved the crowds, making appropriate small talk. Whatever this impromptu party's purpose, he had no intention of staying. LaCroix would take him home or he would walk all the way.

"Good evening, my son," LaCroix said smoothly.

"It's been better," Nick grunted. "I want to go home."

"That would be most impolite. Here, I have a gift for you."

Nick felt a bottle placed in his hands. He could not read the label to see what his master had given him, so he brought it closer to his nose and inhaled. A familiar scent tingled, bringing out his fangs. He sniffed again. Surprise registered on his face. "Yours?"

"An entire case, Nicholas. For you to take to Montreal."

Nick was speechless. It was his father's blessing. "Thank you, Lucien," he whispered.

Natalie came up and gave Nick a quick hug. "I wish you well, Nick," she said.

"Thanks, Nat."

"And, I'm sorry."

Nick's eyes widened. "About what?"

"I'm sorry I tried to push you into having surgery. That I didn't give you credit to make your own decisions."

Nick kissed her lightly on the forehead. "It's okay, Nat. I know you care."

"Now," LaCroix interrupted. "I believe young Urs wishes to speak with you. In an hour, if you still wish to go, I will take you."

Nick passed the bottle back to LaCroix for safekeeping. Then he stepped closer and gave him a quick, impulsive embrace. "See you in an hour."

He felt Urs's eyes on him. Maybe it was time to take his own advice? He would apologize and maybe she would come back. He turned towards where he could sense her, walking a straight line as the crowds parted for him.

"Hello, Nick," Urs said softly.

"Urs, I... I'm sorry I've hurt you," Nick began. Speaking slowly, he was able to sense the play of moods in her, the awkwardness at first, then the anger which she tried to conceal, and longing. He knew then that she had been hurt about something. He knew he'd been short-tempered with her on many occasions, but just at the moment he couldn't think of what exactly he'd said that had caused her to leave.

"You have only been gentle and loving, and I've been too wrapped up in myself to notice you. Please forgive me?"

"I already have, Nick," she said.

He was puzzled. Surely, she had been nursing hurt feelings and was just waiting for an apology? Now what?

"Nick, I love you, and I want to come back. But, on my terms."

This was never good. Nick swallowed nervously. "And they are?"

"I am not going to sit around idly, while you go out to work. I've opened a house-cleaning business. I have five customers now, and I might take on one more." "You clean houses!" Nick felt his anger surfacing. She was not a maid! She could be a queen, why was she doing this to him? Did she enjoy embarrassing him?

"Yes, Nick. I clean for vampires. And don't get all sanctimonious on me. No job is demeaning if done well. I enjoy it, I am good at it, and you are treating me and my desire to clean the same way that LaCroix treats you about your playing detective."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do and don't raise your voice to me."

"Urs, you don't have to clean. We can hire servants for that."

"And you don't have to work, either. You could live quite comfortably on the millions you've stashed away, or even on LaCroix's money."

"That's not the same."

"It is precisely the same. You're a snob."

Nick shut his mouth. She just didn't understand.

Urs touched his jaw, stroking the throbbing vein with a thumb. "And besides working, I don't like it when you yell at me although you are really angry at someone or something else. I'll listen to you, and support you, but I won't be your doormat."

Nick was humbled. He knew exactly what she was referring to. He had been a beast towards her. Tears threatened to spill and he blinked rapidly. "You deserve better, Urs."

"I don't want anyone else, Nick. I want you."

"But-"

"No buts. Take me as I am. We'll work the rest out together." She didn't wait for a response then, but kissed him hard. Nick embraced her, clutching her to him, weeping even as he felt his fangs descend. "Oh, Urs!"

She bit him then, initiating the blood kiss. She focused on her feelings for this stormy knight, allowing her love to pour into him through the exchange. From him she felt his love and guilt. "No more guilt," she whispered. "Just love me, Nick."

Nick drank deeply. He forgot he was in a crowded nightclub surrounded by vampires. There was just he and Urs and the kiss of vampire sex. His passion crested, leaving him trembling in her arms. Urs licked at his tears. "Just love me, Nick," she repeated huskily.

"I do."

"But I am not the only one," she said.

"What do you mean?"

Urs smiled. "You love another more than me."

Nick tried to deny it, but she placed a finger over his lips. "I would not believe you. I see her in your blood. I just want to say that I am not jealous. I know what she is to you, and I will not come between you. I will be here, whenever you need me. Whenever you want me."

He forced a smile. "If you know so much, then you know she does not want to see me," he said, trying for a lightness he could not feel.

Urs smiled. "Hmm. Come now, Nicky. This is a party. Let us celebrate."

Janette stood at the balcony rail and watched unobserved. Nichola looked good. He seemed confident, angry, purposeful... much as she had always remembered him. The subdued lighting cast an unearthly glow, creating a halo effect around his dark golden hair. He looked thinner. His black trousers fit snugly, but the shirt billowed, loose at his throat with full sleeves. Her breath caught. She had almost forgotten how much he could stir her passion with no more than a glance.

She watched him bite the young blonde, feeling her own desires burn as she watched them mate. She licked her fangs, wishing it was she in his arms. She would be, soon, if all went well.

The blonde took his arm then, including a few nearby vampires in conversation. Nick looked uncomfortable. Since when did he resent such social gatherings? He had always enjoyed them in past centuries. They had attended many balls together. Perhaps, he disliked them now a they reminded him of her? Janette could only hope...

Then he froze.

She saw the stiffness in his motions, saw the glare on his handsome features. He called to someone named "Perry". Then she saw him grope blindly, taking the guide dog's harness with a firm grasp. She had been told he was blind, but it hadn't seemed real until now. He turned around abruptly and strode towards the door. He couldn't leave already! She had to stop him!

She opened herself to him, sensing him more clearly than any being in the room. He had been her lover; for centuries he had been the child she would never have, her brother and confidant. Now he was her master. His thoughts were open to her. The anger was a front. He was hurting and she was the cause. She flew from the balcony. "Nichola."

Nick kept his back to her, but his chin lifted slightly.

"Nichola. Mon Cherie, my lord."

"I was just leaving, Janette. You can get back to your party."

"Nichola," she said softly. She moved closer, wanting to put her arms around him but suddenly afraid of him. "It is not my party. It is yours."

"I'm not in a party mood. Good night."

Janette moved quickly in front of him, blocking his path. "Nichola, don't be so rude."

"Perry, home," Nick commanded.

The guide dog tried to lead him around this female obstacle, but she intervened again. "I am sorry you are so angry with me, my lord. I had hoped we could make amends. Is it not possible?"

The twitch in his jaw told her of his tenuous control. "What do you want from me, Janette. I have said I was sorry before. Why do you torture me?"

Janette reached up to touch the rough jaw lovingly. "I am sorry, Nichola. Truly sorry. I was confused. I was hurting. My first true mortal love had died. I reacted badly. Then I stayed away, but it was not because I was angry with you, truly."

"What then!" He regretted the sharp tone of his voice.

Janette pouted. There was no easy way to say it. "I hated being an infant again. I was so weak. And I was jealous that you were now stronger than I was."

Nick stared, unbelieving. "Jealous?"

"Hmm." She shrugged carelessly. "Now, my love. I am back. Can we, perhaps, kiss and make up?"

Nick's fangs fell, full and glinting in the dim light. Still, his expression was cautious. She wondered what had happened to the gullible youth she had known for so many years. Janette put her arms around his neck then, pressing her hips into his arousal. "Did you miss me, even a little?"

His eyes were red coals of desire. He pulled her close, crushing her in his embrace. She gasped, shocked at his power over her, then snuggling in for the moment. He nuzzled her neck, trailing his fangs along the sensitive flesh. His breath in her ear incited the flames of passion. "Oh, Nicky!"

Then they could not be denied. Nick plunged into her throat, tearing the tender skin in his haste. Janette returned the bite, uniting them as master and child, immortal lovers, eternal family in the bond that would not be refused. Nick clung to her, bruising her unintentionally. The truth of her simple explanation was manifest in her blood. She did not hate him! He felt the vampires around them, aroused at his passionate display, but it did not matter. He felt his master's mild amusement. Even that could not mar the beauty of this moment.

Vachon stared at Nick and the beautiful vampire Janette. He had first fallen for the raven-haired seductress some four hundred years ago, but his had been an unrequited love. To her, he was nothing more than an amusement. He licked his fangs, suddenly aware he was drooling.

"You keep your fangs off my lover," a deep voice threatened.

Vachon looked up suddenly and stared into the stony expression of his vampire twin. "Piejo?"

"I do have a name," Amaru sighed.

Vachon didn't answer; he just stared at the other. "I don't understand," he began. "I watched you die with the bomb."

Amaru nodded. "I did not die… completely," he said, stating the obvious. "Why did you not come to my aid?" He tried to conceal the resentment, the animosity he felt towards Vachon.

Vachon felt his brother's emotions as if they were his own. His blood boiled with anger, yet he knew that it didn't belong to him. "I thought you were dead. There was no need to look…"

Amaru felt shock radiating from his brother. But more than the surprise, he felt tentative euphoria budding in Javier. It surprised him. "You are happy to see me?" he asked, voicing his own surprise.

Javier shrugged, bringing up a façade of nonchalance. "About as much as always," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets.

Amaru arched his brow at his brother, folding his arms across his chest.

For a long moment, the twins stared at each other without a word. Then Amaru launched himself at Vachon, tackling him to the floor. Vachon rolled, trying to escape Amaru's attack. They tumbled into several vampires, knocking their feet out from beneath them.

LaCroix heard the sudden ruckus and glanced around. He saw the young Spaniard rolling across the floor with another young vampire. He watched in mild amusement as they tumbled towards the dance floor, knocking into several others, leaving a havoc of floating vampires. He did not move until he saw how perilously close they were to his son and his granddaughter.

LaCroix was instantly at their sides, grabbing both by the scruff of their necks. He hissed at them dangerously, his eyes glowing feral red.

"If you are going to fight," he growled at the startled twins, "take it out side!" He carried them to the door, holding them both in the air.

Diggin followed close behind his younger brother and opened the door for LaCroix.

LaCroix nodded at the other vampire, then smiled evilly at the twins, throwing them both out the door.

Vachon and Amaru flew threw the air, laughing and screaming until they landed on the ground. It was only a moment before the two resumed their tumbling fight.

Diggin smiled at LaCroix. "You handled that well," he said.

LaCroix permitted the barest of a smile towards Diggin. "Come then," he said, his voice like silk. "Let us rejoin our family and friends." He rested his hand on Diggin's shoulder, walking in with him.

Diggin smiled. This was probably about as close as LaCroix would ever come to admitting that they were family. He realized that he wouldn't have it any other way, either.

A shout went up through the nightclub as the band began the next number. Nick was reluctant to pull out of Janette. He gave her a smile, not relinquishing his firm hold. His hips moved with the rhythm of the popular, if somewhat foolish song, and he sang along.

Aye-oh, aye-oh, aye-oh, aye-oh, ah! When I dance they call me 'Macarana' And the boys they think it's very plane-ah, They all want me, they can't have me So they all come to dance beside me…

The dance floor vibrated as the vampires young and old joined in the dance. Nick didn't know this one and he was not ready to release Janette.

She twined her fingers into his hair. "Oh, Nicky. I'm sorry I stayed away so long," she said sincerely.

He shrugged. "I've survived."

"No. You've done more than survive. You've won. You are stronger now than I've ever seen you. You seem confident, proud- I sense a great power within you."

"Only because I'm your master now."

"No, Nichola. It is more than that. I do not know how to explain it. Are you happy?"

Nick was about to give a flippant response, but then he stopped and reconsidered. Was he? He was still blind. But, he was going away in three days to the small school outside Montreal. He would conquer this disability. It wasn't the same as seeing, but it was living. He had reconciled with Urs, found a new friend in Vachon. He had a little sister, and rediscovered a relationship with LaCroix. Things were even working out with Natalie. And now, he had Janette back.

He knew of her lover, Amaru. That much was evident in her blood. He did not begrudge her the affair. He finally understood what she had been trying to tell him when she wanted out of their marriage of 97 years. She would always love him.

She might never commit to him again. She would always be a part of his life, but she couldn't be his life. He had to find happiness within himself.

The Macarana ended. The younger ones congregated around the bar and the dance floor cleared. Nick remained alone in the center of the dance floor with Janette. The band's lead singer announced the next number. "This is dedicated to our guest of honor tonight, Nicholas de Brabant. The Tango del Amor."

An expectant hush fell on the crowd. Nick pulled Janette into position and when the music began, he swept her across the dance floor with strong, sure steps. He had recently danced the tango with Alma, but this was better. Janette knew exactly was next. She had danced with him for centuries and she was bonded with him.

LaCroix waited for the first part of the dance, allowing them to tango alone. Then as Janette twirled away from Nick, LaCroix took her hand. The mock fight began. Two men, one woman, and a love that transcended all. The drums kept the dance moving with a quick rhythm, the traditional Latino instruments blending in with modern electric keyboard and bass guitars.

As the passionate tango continued, the desire in the room exploded like kerosene on a forest fire. The last beat of the song echoed; Nick plunged into Janette's neck again. At that moment every vampire in the room reached for the closest neck. Nick smiled, feeling the contentment echo through the nightclub. Was he happy? He could not remember ever feeling better than at this moment now.

"Janette," he whispered in her ear. "Janette? I grant you your freedom, to see whom you wish, go where you wish, but please, don't ever leave me again…"

"Never, Sir Nicky," she promised.

The End.

Many thanks to my readers who responded with such enthusiasm, especially Lelia and Jeannie. Also, thanks and congratulations to my daughter Tammy, who helped to create and write this dance, and of course, to my beta-reader, Laurie of the Isles. You've been a wonderful help. I hope you all enjoyed this dance.